I'll admit, it's been a while since my house got a really good, really deep cleaning. And if my total lack of motivation is any indication, it's not going to be getting one any time soon.
Sometimes I hate looking around and seeing the crumbs under the couch, the finger prints on the fridge, and the thin film of dust covering just about every surface possible.
But other times? I simply could not care less.
That's not to say I surround myself with junk and live in absolute filth, mind you.
But a little mess here and there never really hurt anyone.
No, really. I was the kind of person who made strict schedules for myself, and who made sure everything was kept spick and span at all times.
How are you supposed to enjoy the space you've so tirelessly labored over cleaning if you're spending all your downtime scrubbing, sweeping, polishing, and vacuuming?
It's just not worth it.
Sure, I still try to carve out a day or two a week where I channel my inner clean freak again so my place doesn't look like it just got picked up, shaken, and then dropped again.
But I also let myself relax too, because life is short, and those dust bunnies can definitely wait a bit longer.
They aren't going anywhere.
