I spent most of last night trying to get myself organized for the incoming ball of puppy, not to mention the eventual move to a new apartment. I've noticed something in the process.
Something has killed my desire to clean.
When I say "killed," I don't just mean that I'm getting a little lazy. I mean that the thought of organizing or tidying ANYTHING makes me cringe. Me, the girl who used to love labeling and sorting the most mundane things, can't stand the thought of it anymore. I can't figure it out.
Example #1: I have done everything in my power to avoid the stacks of music receipts sitting on my filing cabinet. Do you know how much I love filing receipts? SO MUCH. And yet, I've been avoiding that stack for, oh, six months? What's wrong with me?
Example #2: The beloved "tech box" I use to store all my music cables, tuners, pedals, capos and other miscellany is a disaster. Actually, it's almost empty, because I've been taking things out and never putting them back. I've now started buying a new patch cord every time I play a gig, because I don't know where the other ones have gone. Jesus.
Example #3: My battery charger has been missing for months. Instead of finding it, I just accepted that it was gone and started avoiding the objects in my house that require batteries. (I'm embarrassed that I just typed that out, but I'm not changing it. I've really been doing that.) I used to have a special box for batteries that needed charging, and a box for batteries that were fully charged. I even put helpful little tags on them. You can imagine how often I've been using those. (My Better Half found the charger last night under a pile of old files from work. Ugh.)
Dudes, I don't know what's wrong. This isn't me. Sure, I'm not always the tidiest person, but at least I had a system. Organizing things used to be my idea of a fun night in. Really.
If I had to throw around some guesses as to what is going on, I'd say that I've probably stretched my capability to keep living in a big house full of roommates. Don't get me wrong; I adore the people I'm living with. But when 80% of your living space is beyond your cleaning control, you can get a little bogged down... Not to mention the fact that my house is HUGE and therefore in need of a lot of care. I find that after I've tidied the counters and watered the plants and swept the floor, I don't even want to think about doing the same thing when I drag my ass upstairs. Eventually that snowballs into not wanting to do anything. Ever. Nada.
The benefit of moving into a smaller space is that I will have a little more control over what goes where. If there's a mess, I'll know it's either mine or my BH's. If something needs fixing, I won't have to wonder if somebody else is taking care of it - I can just jump right in. And frankly, being in a smaller space means that if I'm messy, I'll be walking through said mess until I take care of it. No spare bedrooms to hide stuff. No extra floor space.
I think it'll do me a lot of good.