I rearranged my office furniture last weekend after I gave it a sound cleaning. I was tired of the cleaning staff not doing it properly. The window sills and curtains were covered with dust. Alas, the lunker of a desk doesn’t allow for much variation. What I need is a smaller desk and/or a more capacious office. In the main office, lying against the wall, waiting for Godot to hang it, is a bulletin board made of cork. I think it has been in that position on the floor for over a year. I can’t get either the house manager or the boss-man to hang it. After I finished cleaning and rearranging my office I hung the damn thing. Four days later I don’t think anyone has noticed it is off the floor and on the wall. At least no one has asked how on earth did it get there.
Speaking of tidy up, I am currently on a pogrom against plastic. While in San Diego I visited a colleague, whose home was drop dead gorgeous. Whenever I am in an awesome abode I am struck there are no plastic objects in sight. I am beginning to equivocate plastic with being cheap and/or tacky. I want to replace all the plastic things with metal, glass, or wood.
The other day I hosed down the back porch for I could not tolerate the dust any longer. Never mind it was late at night. I was not going to rest until the grime was scoured away.
Perhaps I am developing OCD tendencies. The difference between myself and OCD is OCD means a) if you don’t do something you get anxious and b) you are seldom satisfied when it is completed viz. you start doing it again and again. When I clean it is out of rage. At times I don’t see things as merely dirty but as symbols of squalor. When I clean I imagine behind me are generations of women who spent their lives fighting filth and decay, who battled against the lead-butt slow leak attitude of loungers and loafers who were all too ready to accept crud as a way of life.
Perhaps I should take the Prozac after all.