Spring forward.
Rather unintentionally, I told Nan that I'd clean the bathroom Saturday (today), since I'd started to last week but ran out without even getting into serious scrubbing. So. Half a year in the new flat and it's right on time for Spring cleaning. Life in boxes: Last week saw one emptied, sorted and the contents reviewed then discarded and the room's almost pleasant to look at. That's to say that the floor isn't covered in used clothing and a dozen all-started/WIP projects. Oh, time.
When I clean it's a sure sign that I'm home. It's the opposite of "waiting for something" or whatever the unnamed thing is. Being transient. Being a dorm resident. The old, lousy uni slouch. No. I'm surprised that I like to clean. I've even been known to toss my flat in a moment of severe inebriation and start cleaning (demon possession, most likely) at three in the morning, after a long visit to one pub and then another, and another.
Thought about that, having a drink. George of a day called for it, kinda. Instead I followed Nan's example and put a portobello on and snacked on the garlic-butter mussels that she prepped. Yum. Most of the day was eating good stuff, sit and sun in the common room, what's on tv? nevermind, another bite. Went out to shoot while the sibs watched a movie they'd seen already for the nth time. Got back, more munchies, put XTC and did a rare thing: listened to an entire album, munchies. Bathroom's calling.
Took, I dunno, three hours? The fixtures are ok. The sink, toilet and floor needed some attention. Tub and walls took the longest; and I'm not really done yet. Maybe more CLR (this is the best thing ever) and a stiff short brush for those hard to reach places. At the end of it though, it was enough for tonight. A thorough shower, the custard apple candle, and as soon as my hair dries, it's book bed and nighty night.