...no good reason. Or maybe that should be, no good reason to post. You'll forgive me if my head is somewhere over my left elbow these days, and my scintillating self has gone into retrograde (like Saturn, or is it Jupiter?).
My last post notwithstanding (and what the fuck does that actually mean?), I spent all of Saturday cleaning my house. There is a certain kind of cleaning that I really do enjoy: it's the once in a blue moon, only when I feel like it deep cleaning. Saturday I turned on the TV and Got At The Floors.
First I swept and then I Swiffered and then I Swiffered with wet stuff. I have tile floors that look like something from the Getty Museum (at least, I think so), and they do, as the Brits would say, come up all nice when they're clean. I also Swiffer Carpet Flicked the area rug. Several times, since Molly likes to chomp on her crunchies while lying on the rug, and she will get crumbs, you know.
You might be asking why I didn't just vacuum the whole thing, and that is, of course and indeed, a legitimate question. Particularly since there are several vacuums in the house. But they are Electroluxes, the cannister kind with a long hose and attachments. It isn't that they belong to the former man-of-the-house--which they do and he is a cannister vacuum junkie. It is that I have found in my vast experience with floors that I cannot bear dragging the cannister along like a recalcitrant dog whining at the end of a leash.
Along with my Swiffer activities, I did some redecorating. I had the Home & Garden channel on, so I was inspired I suppose. I rearranged tschokes and pictures, made little arrangements, as they tell you to do, of bullshitty whatnot stuff that I've had lying around for ages. I actually went shopping in my own house for knicknacks. It was fun. I had a good time. I went to bed happy.
But really, when all is said and done, what I was really doing is no more than a cat does when he marks his territory. I was claiming the house as mine and mine alone. Or almost. Maybe.