IN WHICH WE DISCOVER A DIFFERENT LEVEL OF "CLEAN"

So I did a thing.

Bolstered by your loving comments about my current state of schlump, I hauled my heiney out of the chair and decided to "clean the apartment".

If you've known me for any length of time, you know that my old standard for what constituted a properly kept house was the idea that a team of surgeons could, at any moment, enter said house and perform surgery on any surface without hesitation.

Even when Stewey was watering the drapes, I tried as best as I could to disinfect and swipe and scrub and brush, polish, and buff everything in my possession to within an inch of its proverbial life.

But now?

I came to the conclusion that if it's not dirty enough to kill me with some rare bacterium...it's good enough for now.

So instead of removing every item from every surface and dousing things in bleach and Lysol and any other crazy thing I fished out of the Targets...I grabbed a handful of paper towels, some Windex, and enough scrubbing bubbles to make it shine and smell nice, and I called it a day.

I pushed the vacuum around for a few minutes until I was tired, fluffed the bedding a bit, replaced the kitchen towels....and declared that I was officially tired, found my book and water, made a damn good cold brew, and returned to the chair.

You know what the funniest thing was at the end of the night as I settled in for sleep? I was as happy and satisfied with my seven minutes of half-a$$ed spiffing as I used to be after a two-day marathon.

So there.

Happy Weekend, Dearies! I, for one, am going to spend it stitching, reading, resting, and slurping. How about you?