I can see now, with retrospect, where I've never had a problem with tidying. Much to the frustration of many, clutter, dust and generally disorganised living space have never bothered me.
It's not that I actually like mess. It's just that until a certain level has been hit, one where you can actually feel the motion of the dust mites under your feet as they lift you out of what is now their room, I don't notice it.
Apart from anything else, tidying has to be one of the most tedious and irritating chores in life. There's always something more interesting or enjoyable to do. Unless there's something really really important that you really don't want to start, tax return sort of thing. Then tidying is great.
Now that my ankles are overrun by a much larger creature, tidying has gone way up in my great To Do list of life. I thought having my wife make sarky remarks about the dust bunnies rankled. Makes you feel like you aren't doing your share of the household tasks, especially when she's out earning all day. Having my daughter hand one to me with a faint frown, however, was much worse.
So I tidy, quite a lot. Especially in the kitchen. So much that F plays 'wiping tables like Daddy' when we're at the playground sandpit. Her attention to detail is excellent. She gives the appropriate sighs and grunts as she scrapes the table clean. And she puts the mounds of dirt on the table first, of course, so that there's something to wipe.
Here's my main gripe with tidying. It never ends. Once you've sucked the Sisyphus of dust up the hoover, it's only going to start coming back. And once you start looking for mess, you can't help but find it. A single one of my chest hairs reduces a clean bathtub to a dirty one. I walk over a clean floor, and I can almost hear the skin cells hitting the parquet. This is why I rarely started in the first place, to preserve my already feeble peace of mind. A thin excuse, I agree, but all I've got.
OCD seems like an easily acquired state of mind. I suppose this is for the best. F won't be wading in a sea of germs, even if her Dad is a bit twitchy and deranged. Speaking of which, I must go. The ceiling needs bleaching and I want to lay new kitchen lino again before the weekend.
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