despite all evidence to the contrary

...like the fact that it appears all I did yesterday was blog, it's been a busy week. What was I doing till 1 this morning? Why, cleaning and fixing up and redecorating the upstairs bathroom. (Which was really unwise, because I had to be at a doctor's appointment with my dad this morning at 7:45, but more about that shortly.)

Anyway. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate and despise cleaning? Organizing, straightening up, decluttering, all that's fine. But I hate to clean. And it occurred to me as I scrubbed the bathtub out three times last night that the probable reason for that is that I suck at it. I feel like there's some magic secret to cleaning that everyone (okay, almost everyone, okay, some people) know that I don't, some way to make it easier and more efficient and less the equivalent of poking sharp sticks in your eyeballs such that other people don't find the whole thing as odious as I do.

Here's a slight digression. Let me explain about the bathtub by first discussing the light fixture over my bathroom vanity. It's ugly, as are all the light fixtures native to this house, and like all the light fixtures in this house, it is needlessly complicated to change a light bulb in it. Putting a new bulb in that particular fixture means my standing on the actual sink, unscrewing two [well, one now, 'cause one's missing/broken] bolts, removing a heavy rectangular piece of glass and resting it precariously on the--wait for it!--soffit, and then changing out the bulb. Then putting it all back together while still standing on the sink. This is why, though the fixture actually calls for four bulbs, there's been one working one in there for, like, I dunno, let's just say "a long time." But last night I replaced 'em all.

Can I tell you this? Four sixty watt bulbs in that fixture and you could do fucking neurosurgery in there. Oh, it's a wee bit brighter than any bathroom ever needs to be, in my humble opinion. And in the blinding new light, it became apparent to me that the tub, which I had already spent a considerable amount of time scrubbing soap scum out of, was still not actually clean. So scrub more, rinse more, scrub more, rinse more. And I had my epiphany. Yes, I realize people who scrub out their tubs with more regularity than do I probably have then less effort to make. But I've watched that BBC show where the two semi-batshit nutty cleaning chicks go into the houses of people who think letting their dogs poop indoors is okay and haven't taken out the trash since 1978 and clean it top to toe in a day using nothing but lemon juice and organic vinegar or something, and they get better results than me and my abundant supply of probably cancer-inducing cleaning products and back-breaking labor. So, obviously, I just suck at it.

I then used my new drill (!) to make some holes in the wall for my new towel ring. Using a new power tool at 12:30 am is probably not the best of all possible ideas either, and I couldn't even finish the job because I didn't have the right size screwdriver upstairs. But all my digits are still attached and my wall doesn't look like I harmed it irreparably, so I went to bed at 1 am relatively satisfied.

But 5:45 came around a little quicker than I might have preferred. What kind of doctor's office even has appointments at 7:45 am? I think it's because my dad's doctor is, like him, an old guy, and like him, needlessly gets up at the crack of dawn and thus thinks that 7:45 may as well be noon. So, dad's doing pretty damn good for 82 (other than, y'know, Helen Keller! Helen Keller!), though he needs to get a venous test on one of his legs, because his MD thinks his thigh pain might be from poor circulation in his groin. He had it done a few years ago, and it was normal, but the doc thinks there was a difference in the pulses on the two sides, so he wants to try it again. But the other thing that he needs is--and this is one of the points of me telling you all this--a podiatrist because apparently his toenails are disgusting.

So, did you know that podiatrists make housecalls? I got me one coming to the house tomorrow between two and four! It seriously cracked me up. I felt like I was calling the plumber or something. I mean, other than that the podiatrist was a lot more responsive than your average plumber. He called me back within three minutes of me leaving a message on his voicemail to tell me he wasn't yet in the office, but that he'd call me in half an hour as soon as he was with an appointment. And he did, and he said he had some time Friday afternoon. Apparently, the podiatry business requires hustle! As well as a weird obsession with feet, but I prefer not to think about that. (But *I* am wearing closed toe shoes when he's in my house tomorrow. Seriously.)

xoxo