A Moderate Amount of Filth

So I'm going away for about a week and I'm running around trying to get everything tied up before I leave the city. That includes cleaning the apartment from top to bottom in advance of my lovely cat-sitter coming to stay. (Yes, Bast has a cat - how odd, no?)

This got me thinking about various levels of cleanliness. I really enjoy living on my own because I can actually put up with a moderate amount of filth. I do finally reach a threshold point where I must, and I do, clean. I think I like to see the dirt first, so when I clean, I know it's gone. I've lived with many, many people in the past, though, and that's where the different levels of clean come in. I lived with one room-mate in Spain who made each of us clean the apartment once a week. There were four of us, which meant on any given day there was a high probability of walking in on a wet floor. Granted, there were many cockroaches that bunked in with us too, so perhaps it was a good idea.

I actually had a spat with one of my room-mates in Ottawa about this very issue. I kept telling her that I could put up with more dirt than she could, and just because her tolerance was lower than mine didn't mean I had to clean in order to have the place up to her level. My Goddess it was difficult.

So that brings me back to the here and now. I must on some unconscious level know that my level of clean is not shared by others, or why else would I be cleaning now? I guess I don't want people to think I'm a little piglet - which I am. So it's all about keeping up appearances, right?

It's all very confusing - and I have to go clean a toilet.

Comments

Sarah Elaine said…
There's a certain comfort level with cleanliness, I think. I used to clean obsessively, but have relaxed somewhat in the past couple of years. Nevertheless, I *prefer* things clean. Makes me feel better. Things get too messy or filthy and I start to feel messy and filthy... I don't like that feeling, hence I try to keep things more or less in my comfort zone most of the time.

But hell, girl, it's your place. You live in it as you please! (Just tell any cockroaches to pack it up and move on before the poker game!)
Anonymous said…
There are so many kinds of filth with which we all have our own levels of tolerance. I prefer to ruminate on the debauched type. Personally, I like to show my boobs (not due to a lack of self-confidence mind you; I just happen to have lovely boobs) at any given chance and to discuss the custumarily undiscussable in strident tones amongst the bourgeousie. Eliciting gasps of indignation from eavesdropping by-standers is just good times.

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