I don’t worry about picking up after myself all of the time since I live alone. My apartment gets a little messy, but usually is still manageable, meaning when I get the gumption to clean on the weekend, I can get the place back to par.
But when the thesis, aka the blob, completely took over my life a couple months ago, my little apartment suffered. Soap scum on the sink, pizza boxes under the trash can, Elsie hair in the halls, clean clothes piled up on my sofa in the bedroom, dirty clothes lying where I took them off on the floor, and dishes piled a mile high. Only my closest friends here were allowed to come inside, and even then it was accompanied with five minutes of apology.
Last week, when I was walking back from school, I passed by my landlord who was sitting out on her apartment. “Did you get my message?” she said. “I’m showing your apartment at 3:45.”
Having a full five minutes to make the apartment look livable…for humans…I took a quick account of what were the worst offenses. I took out the garbage, tried cleaning the sink in the bathroom, consolidated the dirty dishes and my clothes (not in the same place).
When the knock came a couple minutes later, I had a bag of garbage in one hand and Elsie in the other. My friend and I took her for a walk while my landlord showed the apartment to the woman who would most definitely not be living here. When I came back, I ducked my head, like Elsie when she gets in trouble, when I walked past my landlord’s apartment. I said, “I’ll have it cleaned up tomorrow.” She, being the nice, diplomatic lady she is, said, “Oh, don’t worry about it…too much.”