Deep cleaning sucks

Couch & love seat are taken care of. Plastic bin is FULL of toys. Have another canister of dirt to get dumped. Knifed all the nastiness out of the ridge around our coffee table and filled it in with glue to prevent further nastification.

Fry: [discussing Fry being his own grandfather as a result of going back in time and getting with his grandmother] I did do the nasty in the past-y.
Nibbler: Verily. And that past nastification is what shields you from the brains!


I like clean. But I don't like cleaning. Because there are times when it feels like a switch has gone off in my head and I become so focused on cleaning that I neglect other things to the point that the kids are NOT allowed to touch anything lest they make a mess of what I've just cleaned.

And it's hard to turn that switch off so I'm capable of living again. That same switch comes on when we move and I usually end up filling an entire 1-subject notebook full of lists and notes of what needs done, what needs packed, what needs taken to Goodwill, etc. It's rough.

I also absolutely cannot stand other people in my space and touching my things. You want to help me clean? That would be amazing! You can hang out on the couch or at the table and mind the kids while I get cleaning.

I've just finally gotten to where I'll let Mikey help me. While pregnant with Jason, we lived in South Carolina and had a large hurricane closet where all our excess boxes went. I cleaned it by myself and organized it to where there were only a few boxes in there of holiday things and the like. It took the majority of my pregnancy to do because it was just me but I got it done.

Mikey's major job in cleaning is carrying the boxes/bags of trash out to the dumpster and keeping the kids in check while I clean. I get so angry when he sits down and things need done but at the same time, there's no task I feel comfortable giving him. So, he plays with the kids, clears the trash, and does the heavy lifting/moving and I'm the one that winds up head-to-toe in dirt at the end.

It's that switch again that makes me upset when he touches my things or wants to help but I can't communicate what I want done for some reason. It's also the same switch that makes me write so many lists that I understand are unnecessary but I have to write them once that switch turns on or else I start to itch.

That same switch makes me get up 5+ times a night to actually re-lock all 3 doors into the house and check to ensure random windows are locked. I wake up to the smalled noises and will mull over them to determine whether or not the cats or the kids moving in bed made that noise. If neither of those possibilities seem likely, then I have to investigate. Usually with a flashlight in hand.

I gues Psychotherapy can help but at the same time, that won't work unless I acknowledge that I have a problem that can be fixed. It's not a problem so much as a quirk. Things have gotten better over the years. I'm not as obsessive during flu season and I don't stop halfway to my destination to turn around because "Did I leave the toaster plugged in? What if the cats jump onto the counter and turn it on and knock something into it and the house catches fire?"

I kinda like being part of that 1%. Also, I hate cleaning.