In the last week I have watched Friday Night Lights eleven times and swept my kitchen not at all. There are dust bunnies under my couch that I have known about since Halloween. The passenger window of my Volvo is completely fogged over with my dog’s saliva, as permanent a fixture as the busted door handle I never felt like fixing, but you probably won’t notice either of those things because your attention really ought to be on the cookie wrapper, In-N-Out box, and bra at your feet.
I am a slob.
And I am fucking fine with it.
I don’t know what to tell you. I have a high tolerance for dust, dirty laundry, and dishes. I’m not saying I let shit get way out of whack – I’ve seen Hoarders. I can recognize when things are about to reach a breaking point. That’s when I take care of business. Drink a little extra coffee. Throw some stuff away. But until that point, I have to be honest. Cleaning is not a real priority, and I like it that way.
You guys, there is so much stuff to do that is more fun than cleaning. Actually, think of any verb right now. I bet whatever you thought of was more fun than scrubbing mildew with Comet.
As it is, I often wonder where my days go. I start out with a litany of things I’m hoping to get done, much of which is carried over from previous days’ to-do lists. To add an additional challenge to this back log of accomplishments, I am a flighty, nap-prone, tangent-taking piece of shit, which eats away at a more than substantial portion of my time. Exactly where in this hustle and bustle is cleaning supposed to fit in?
I mean, I’m barely one person.
I have found mess complacency to be a huge weight off my shoulders. It’s lovely to let go of an entire category of your responsibilities. It opens up time for irresponsibilities, which are obviously superior in every way.
And all you have to do to enjoy this freedom is be okay with a few old receipts in your make up case, a few empty shampoo bottles in your shower.
Done.
Frankly, I think slobs are fantastic people. I look for the quality in friends and living partners. Have a bowl of milk with Cheerios in your sink? Great. That just tells me: Hey, this is someone whose visits I won’t need to prep for, and they probably will also have an extra jacket in their car if I ever need to borrow one. Slobs are people you can rely on for spontaneous living supplies and a general lack of judgement.
I know, some of you are clean. Some of you fold your clothes when you pack, and sweep in places no one sees. I still love you. I mean, your living habits make me a little uncomfortable, but I try to remember that we just have a different threshold for mess. And a different amount of time free to hike and watch Roseanne.
God, I am such a dick.
