My house is a mess.

I mean really a mess. It sorta kinda stays messy these days. When I was married, I was a freak about where stuff went and how the house needed to be clean and on and on. Now, eh…not so much. It is just me and the cats. I DO clean…when I feel like it. I mean come on…does it really matter that the cat drug my bra in the living room again? Does it matter that my bed is NEVER made and has a fur ball on the left side where the cats sleep the size and consistency of another cat?
I used to always make the bed, or at least almost always or Cliff did. I had to pick up my clothes because Cliff had friends over. It was rather embarrassing that my underpants (the size of a small country) were laying right there in the floor, clearly and strategically placed on a direct path to his office. Freckle I KNOW it was YOU!!

But now, I am by myself. Nobody comes over. My cats don’t care. Do I care? Hmmmmmmm. Well, I have varying schools of thought on that. I should care… part of something in my brain thinks it should care.

Let me state, messy for me isn’t messy for most folks. I am no hoarder. I would regale you with a list of things that proves I am no grossy mcgross gross, but I may offend a few folks who I personally know, whose idea of hygiene and level of cleanliness differs greatly from mine.

Not saying anything is wrong with them or their living arrangements.

So I need to mop the kitchen floor and really need to take out the garbage (no smell or flies of late). I would have to say, the bane of my cleaning existence, comes in the form of laundry. I, personally, feel that if you have enough underwear to postpone a trip to the Laundromat, then you are sitting on a veritable gold mine. That’s just me, I am just sayin…….