Cleaning house

Tomorrow. I'm going to clean tomorrow.

I can take those bags of recycling to the drop site outside the overpriced grocery store. The newspapers too. When I get back, I'll spend 10 minutes in the kitchen. I can get that one counter taken care of. Scratch that. I'll spend 15 minutes. I'll reward my productivity with 15 minutes of Netflix. Better yet, I'll spend an hour in the kitchen and then watch Netflix for an hour. I'll make myself a Spotify playlist that lasts an hour. When the music stops, so can I.

Tomorrow, I'll move that bookshelf from the living room to the den and redo my altar. First, I have to move the ironing board. Then I can clean it off. It's just holding stacks of artwork and dry-clean-only pants that no longer fit. Maybe I'll hang up some art I've done. Something above the fireplace, something above the stereo, something that says I've lived here seven years and should at least pretend I belong. I don't want to get too comfortable, though. I keep intending to move. I should sell that goddess-y wall hanging and jump start the purging process that accompanies moving. It's time for it, like me, to be in a new space. Dear Craigslist: For sale, one black goddess scarf with velvety texture, purchased in Ann Arbor, 2007. Tiny holes in corners from being hung on nails by safety pins. Probably dusty. Two-cat home.

Crap. I forgot that broken TV stand is in the closet and I can't put the ironing board in there, even if I could figure out how to collapse it. Where'd all this dust come from? Oh, great. A chunk of ceiling fell in and I need to sweep it up. I think I'll just close this door for now. But I'll stand here for a minute first and toe the dust that's still visible. Maybe I'll just go ahead and leave the light off in this room.

I'm going to move the bed tomorrow. I'll wash the bedding and make that one shelf into a bedside table. I'll pull its twin from the living room, remove all the stuff that doesn't belong there. A bottle of ibuprofen with only two tablets left. A bottle of adobe seasoning that's essentially just colored salt. Takeout menus in triplicate. I'll find a lamp that works but leave it unplugged since no one's on the other side of the bed anyway. It'll match, be cute. Maybe I'll put my yellow sheets back on the bed. Mental note: Buy lightbulbs. Tomorrow.