Housework? Check. Headache? Check.

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I finally gave up on waiting for the temperatures to come down long enough to do housework. So, today, with the thermometer on the porch pushing 40 degrees Celsius, I started.

Now, I am completely borderline OCD, so I like clean surroundings. Typically, I let things go for about a week, then get at’em.

This week, I have been procrastinating because it has been so hot, the fridge feels hot as the stove and the stove is cold because I never turn it on.

That kind of hot.

However, things were starting to look grimy. There were enough furballs on the floor, I could have stuffed a homemade comforter for winter. And Jack had left a few skidmarks near his bowl. They looked like chocolate but I’m pretty sure they weren’t chocolate.

I also like to wash my bed once a week. A clean bed is a happy bed. It just feels so much better than a tangled up, sleepy-smelling mattress.

Of course I also had to strip off the covers because I haven’t actually slept INSIDE the bed for over a week now. When I do sleep in my bedroom, I sleep on top of my quilt with a small blanket over me. That way I can push my feet against the cold cold metal of my footboard. Ah. (I’m not sure how I can “change” the couch since I’ve been sleeping on that 50% of the time because of its proximity to the air conditioner.)

As OCD as I am, I don’t scour the house when I clean—mostly because I’m a curious specimen of humanity that cannot cool down when I do vigorous activity outside of the lake. This time of year, housecleaning makes me look like I’ve been sunburned 20 days in a row. It’s not pretty.

I start by vacuuming the little furballs. And all of the spots on the floor where Jack eats his treats. As you know, cats chew a certain way and tend to leave little bits behind wherever they have eaten. If this is not over a bowl, you can imagine how the carpet crunches when you walk over that particular spot.

My hero, though, is my Vileda mop. It’s like a Swiffer, only refillable with your own solution. It has no batteries and you keep reusing the rag (at least until it has turned from white to concrete grey). In other words, the environment and the pocketbook is in love with this mop. And because I’m a wee bit lazy, I love it too.

So now the house smells fantastic. I love a clean house. I love the smell of cleaner. The tidiness of everything put into its place.

The headache nagging my brain because it’s 40 degrees outside.

If you know me, though, please come and visit. But don’t wait a week.

There might be more skidmarks then.

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