In the interest of family peace, I’ve decided to become less demanding of my cellmates when it comes to housework. Obviously, I have a much more refined sense of what constitutes cleanliness than the average human being. But since my relatively new zen approach to life, where I have accepted that it would be mentally and physically healthier for me to just learn to chill the hell out about The Shit That Bugs Me, and Let Things Slide A Wee Bit, I like to think I've become a softer, gentler version of my previous animal self.
Plus, stress kills, ya know.
That said, I come home today to find the bathroom looking like a tsunami hit it. Kitchen, ditto. I walk around with that look on my face that usually indicates impending doom for the person(s) responsible. As I wander, I ponder my deep inner zen-ness, and the gargoyle face gradually cracks, crumbles, and let’s my happy face shine through. I remind myself that it’s just a house (really nice one!) and it’s just a bit (understatement, but no matter) messy, and a mere 10 minutes or so of tidying can rectify the situation, should the need arise. I tell myself (Self, are ya there?) that nothing will change if I do not do it. In fact, what if I…*gasp* just left it the way it is? Like, all messy like. Like. Would the world cease to turn? Would it’s axis change? Would the universe alter? Time space contiuum crack and let in the creepybleepies from another dimension? It’s possible, I ponder. Who knows. But I decide to just Take The Chance, and see. That was two whole hours ago, and thus far, nothing has appeared in my livingroom with 14 heads and battery acid saliva.
So far, so good. If I don't check back in by midnight, it means something horrible crawled out from under the sofa and ate me. And then rudely barfed me back up onto my previously spotless hardwood floors. Please alert the proper authorities and remember, God loves us enough to create an anti-universe. He calls it Hell. I call it a messy house. Sick one, that ole God.
A real sick one :)
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