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...and I am fully aware that this is the second time in less than a month I've used that line for a title, but it's so appropriate for so many situations.
Today, though it's a reference to the beginning of Project Black Dog HQ Is Not Going To End Up Like Grimmauld Place, Damn It!
These last few months, betweeen my mother being ill, the kittens, the heat, the lack of visitors and me being less than 100% myself, my normally lackadaisical housekeeping efforts have tipped over into the utterly non-existent. And there are eight animals living here: seven of them shed hair, five of them eat day-old chicks on the floor, two of them leave muddy pawmarks, one of them pukes yellow bile when he eats grass and one of them is a bone-lazy pack rat with a long-standing pathological aversion to cleaning. Recipe for disaster, no?
It had gotten to the point where I'm getting reluctant to post animal photographs because of the disgustingness of the backdrop. It had to stop. The stopping starts here.
The bedroom (aka cat room) is trashed. I'm putting that off till the kittens leave; just keeping the litter trays fresh, wiping the eating area floor and checking daily for stashed uneaten food is as much as I can cope with for now. But if I don't get some sort of handle on the rest of the flat before that happens I'm just going to get overwhelmed and go into avoidance mode on the whole thing until I end up living in the sort of squalor that gets flats repossessed and tenants committed. Not. Going. To. Happen.
So I've started by sweeping the floor (too much hair!!) and scrubbing the kitchen floor and the fronts of the kitchen cupboards. Next job is the crap piled on and around the coffee table, windowsill and the windowside dog cage.
Well, I'm going to watch another episode of ER first. But that gets tackled before I go to sleep.
Today, though it's a reference to the beginning of Project Black Dog HQ Is Not Going To End Up Like Grimmauld Place, Damn It!
These last few months, betweeen my mother being ill, the kittens, the heat, the lack of visitors and me being less than 100% myself, my normally lackadaisical housekeeping efforts have tipped over into the utterly non-existent. And there are eight animals living here: seven of them shed hair, five of them eat day-old chicks on the floor, two of them leave muddy pawmarks, one of them pukes yellow bile when he eats grass and one of them is a bone-lazy pack rat with a long-standing pathological aversion to cleaning. Recipe for disaster, no?
It had gotten to the point where I'm getting reluctant to post animal photographs because of the disgustingness of the backdrop. It had to stop. The stopping starts here.
The bedroom (aka cat room) is trashed. I'm putting that off till the kittens leave; just keeping the litter trays fresh, wiping the eating area floor and checking daily for stashed uneaten food is as much as I can cope with for now. But if I don't get some sort of handle on the rest of the flat before that happens I'm just going to get overwhelmed and go into avoidance mode on the whole thing until I end up living in the sort of squalor that gets flats repossessed and tenants committed. Not. Going. To. Happen.
So I've started by sweeping the floor (too much hair!!) and scrubbing the kitchen floor and the fronts of the kitchen cupboards. Next job is the crap piled on and around the coffee table, windowsill and the windowside dog cage.
Well, I'm going to watch another episode of ER first. But that gets tackled before I go to sleep.
