I would like to clean my house–not solely tidy up or run the vacuum but CLEAN it. I would like to scrub floors and tub and windows. I want to erase month therefore gunk from ceiling fans. I need to dig in and rip apart and go to town. The problem is that the task, to me, is insurmountable. I would sooner run a marathon, then climb Mount Everest and then develop a cure for AIDs than clean my house. It is such a hideous idea to me that I will exhaust myself and pay hours if not days solely to have to turn around and do it all once more next week and the next and that the next. Why can’t there bee little fairies that follow my family around cleaning as we have a tendency to go? I recognize I’d feel therefore far better if it were done but then I begin to consider the method and I slump back down into the couch and flip the channel. There has got to be a sensible reason on TV to put it off another day, right?
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