I cleaned my house. That should last a day or two.
You know how some people have really nice houses that on any given day you could go over and it would look like they just finished a photo shoot for some home magazine. Everything is in it's perfect little place. Everything matches. And everything looks sparkling new due to non-use.
That's not my house.
My house, on any given day, looks like people live here. From the ginormous sneakers by the couch, to the half-chewed dog toys sprinkled throughout the house, to the tattoo equipment that now sits on my dining room table. My house would never be featured in any home magazine unless it paid tribute to the cluttered, casual, middle-class.
So, yesterday, I spent the day cleaning. I swept and polished the hardwood floors downstairs. Did the dishes, cleaned the kitchen. Did two loads of laundry. Vacuumed the upstairs and shampooed the carpets. Changed the linens on my bed, giving the new sheets a couple squirts of Quelques Fleur. (This could very well be my most favorite perfume of all time.)
Now, I'm sitting in my pajamas. Revelling in a clean house. I guess I could do some yard work today. I have a shit ton of leaves that won't collect themselves. But I am still tired, so I might go back to bed for an extended nap.