I hate cleaning. I’m one of those people who loves the idea of a clean, organized home, but has no idea how real people in the real world make it happen. I clean up, and within 24 hours, the place is a disaster again.
My sister has a 3 year old monster-child, and her house is cleaner than mine, and all I have is a husband and a cat.
I love seeing the pics on Unfuck Your Habitat (if you don’t read it, go read it NOW, but be warned, it’s a time-vampire). I love the idea of taking 20 minutes, whipping through and making an impact, and being rewarded with sparkly letters and a gif of awesome. But man… some days, I feel like this place is a hole, and that there’s no way out. That may be the depression talking.
So, now we have to move. We have to move from one end of this “MegaCity” nonsense to the other. And I’m dreading it. The packing, mostly, and the unpacking. Moving the clutter and the trash, tracking our mess all over… And turning another space into a trash hole.
I need to get rid of a bunch of stuff. I don’t really know how I”m going to do this.
I’m GOING to do this. Even if I have to make myself sparkly letters and gifs.
Could use some terrifying motivation though…
Get started.

Shut the fucking computer off, get up, and do 20 minutes on your living room. Take a 10 minute break, then do 20 minutes of dishes. Then take another 10 minute break and put the bins out.
Come on. Get going. Now.
Right fucking now.
Sick kids and exhausted husband mean they’re out of your way. 20 minutes on your kitchen, then a 10 minute break, then 20 minutes on the bathroom(s) because of the sick kids, then another break.
Now, please.
I fucking mean it.
Do you think I don’t recognize a cry for help when I see one?
FOR FUCK’S SAKE, GET OFF YOUR ASS RIGHT NOW AND SET A TIMER FOR TEN MINUTES AND UNFUCK SOMETHING.
NOW.

TEN MINUTES.
GO.
The bedroom is so trashed right now. Clothes all over, bed unmade, mail scattered hither and yon, cats on top of stacks of books and binders and notes and stuff that needs to be put away, but I’m just sitting here, surveying my Queendom of Qrap, and then checking email again.
Maybe POM could call me out. Would that help? I’m usually really tidy, but it’s like a bomb went off in here in the last 24 hours.
Sorry, sorry, I was at work! HAVE YOU STARTED UNFUCKING YET? NO? WHY NOT? GET TO WORK.

drawsomething replied to your post: MAKE YOUR BED
but my dog is sleeping there.
So was mine. I displaced her for 30 seconds, and now she’s sleeping there again.
THIS IS NOT THE “LET’S GIVE EXCUSES” GAME. THIS IS THE “MAKE YOUR BED” GAME.
paging team unfuckyourhabitat
PUT AWAY YOUR DAMN CHRISTMAS TREE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.*
*as long as you don’t accuse me of inflicting my privilege on you by suggesting that you take your holiday decorations down. Which I know you won’t.
GET TO IT.
I’M WATCHING.
I’M ALWAYS WATCHING.
I’m not pulling off 20/10s. My laundry is everywhere. My desk is a mess again, and that room has stalled.
But in the three minutes it took for my tea to steep, I washed two pots and wiped down all the counters in the kitchen.
I’m counting my small accomplishments but missing the desire to tackle the bigger problems.
STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER.
RIGHT NOW.
20 minutes on either laundry or desk, and don’t come back until it’s done.
GET UP.
BE LAZY LATER.
YOU’RE ALMOST DONE.
DON’T MAKE ME BE DISAPPOINTED IN YOU.
GO. GO NOW.
GO UNFUCK NOW.
OFF YOUR ASS AND GET STARTED.
If you tag posts with Unfuck Your Habitat or Team Unfuck Your Habitat, I’ll see it and most likely reblog it. Can’t wait to see the progress.
GET OUT OF BED.
TURN ON THE HEAT.
WASH YOUR FREAKING SOCKS.
There is no “I hope.” There is only “I will.” You WILL finish this tonight, and you will NOT lose time by fucking around on Tumblr beyond your designated breaks.

GET THE FUCK OUT OF BED. YOUR HOUSE IS NOT GOING TO UNFUCK ITSELF.
TURN OFF THE TV. NOW. GO. TV IS A TIME SUCK AND YOU WILL FAIL AT UNFUCKING IF YOU DON’T TURN IT OFF.
