Unfuck Your Habitat

thecherrylee:

It’s become pretty obvious to my nearest and dearest over the last couple of months that my obsession with Unfuck Your Habitat is paying dividends. Apart from the occasional slip-up with the hoovering or washing up, my home has been ready for unexpected guests, constantly, for two months. My cousin even texted me the other day to say that she had cleaned her kitchen because she was inspired by how nice mine looked. As someone who was born without the Neat And Tidy Person gene, it was a proud moment for me. 

So tonight, when I was just getting myself ready to shut the computer off and go to bed, I looked at the handful of dishes and cups that were still in the front room from dinner and thought, ‘if I do that now, I won’t have to do it in the morning. It’ll only take five minutes.’ 

Fast-forward two hours and the kitchen is gleaming, I only have one load of laundry left to deal with instead of three, the bathroom sparkles and the door frames have had their grubby hand-prints Magic Erasered to death. And now I’m wide awake and itching to hoover but can’t because all the normal, reasonable people that aren’t raging balls of hormones and sleep deprivation are asleep, and although I’m sure that J and Sprog could sleep through a hurricane, I don’t think Mrs Upstairs or Mr Next-Door would appreciate the noise. 

So now I’m itching to just CLEAN ALL THE THINGS… and there is nothing left to clean. NOTHING. Windows? Windowsills? Cat feeding area? Nope, all shiny. Sprog’s room? Surprisingly tidy for a four-year-old’s. Invisible Corner of the hallway got sorted three days ago. The only thing out of place is the pile of newspapers on the footstool, but they’re only there so we can grab them easily when we go to decorate the bedroom in the morning. 

Sigh… it’s nearing 1:30 am and I’m sat here, wide awake, with a bunch of restless energy that would usually be channeled into cleaning, and nothing to clean. I legitimately don’t know what to do with myself now. 

Thanks, UFYH!