JeffKirvin.net

I spent all of last weekend cleaning. And when I say cleaning, I mean I removed 25 13-gallon white kitchen garbage bags from my one-bedroom apartment, and that doesn’t even count the actual bedroom, which I use for storage. My apartment went from looking like ground zero of a tornado to a clean, austere living environment by removing what I called the debris of five years of depression.

It’s scary how easily we fall into patterns, even (perhaps especially) if they’re destructive. For much of the past five years or so, when I was done drinking from a paper fast food cup, I just dropped it where I was. When I was done with a microwaved lasagna, I put the plastic pan on the floor for Kosh (a cat with a Garfieldian appreciation for Italian food), then never got around to picking it back up. I was depressed, and it just didn’t seem to matter. I got the living conditions I felt I deserved.

That changed last week when my apartment manager had to let a plumber into my apartment to make some emergency repairs to the apartment behind mine. I was told I’d have to clean the place up or find somewhere else to live. So I spent the whole weekend cleaning, even skipping a Pocket PC user group meeting.

I can’t express how much of a difference it makes. I can relax in my apartment now, and I’m inclined to keep it clean. It’s a pleasant place to come home to now.

There’s just one downside. In the process of removing so much trash, I pulled a muscle in my back. Just between my right shoulderblade and my spine, and it hurts like a mother when I’m sitting for too long. I’m on muscle relaxants, which help a great deal, and I’ve got a more supportive chair at work. But ow.

Still, it was worth it.