Necessary Irritating Jobs

You know those jobs. The ones which you need to do and have promised your sister/ flatmate/ mother/ significant other that you’ll do, but keep putting off.

For me, those jobs are usually something to do with cleaning, though I am very good at the “oh, oops, I meant to do/ was going to do that” for other things too. (There is a book, Diary of a Wannabe Princess, whose main character’s family nickname is ‘Justa’ for ‘in just a minute’. If my family did nicknames like that, I would relate to her.)

Anyway. Cleaning. I’m the sort of person who – so long as she knows where everything is – is pretty non-fussed about that. Oh, I keep things tidy (there are no clothes on the floor of my room, promise!) – but I just can’t be stuffed to do more than that, most of the time. However, I do see the sense in a clean every now and again. Say, a clean-out of the clothes cupboard once a year (I have too many clothes) or of the space under the bed every six months.

“The space under the bed?” I hear you ask. Yep. That’s storage space, for my keepboxes (cardboard and plastic boxes for keeping old stuff in). I collect little knickknacks, bought and created, on my bookshelf. The keepboxes under my bed ‘keep’ old bits and pieces from school which I can’t bear to recycle (usually written assignments and stuff) as well as past editions of The Big Issue and my uni magazine, Rabellais and programs from past concerts and old journals and Girl Guides things and just stuff like that. Every six months to a year I have to sort through them all (or at least re-organise, because I often just poke new stuff under the bed on top of old, creating a pile which balances unevenly until it touches the bottom of my bed slats. I’m not bothered otherwise.

I’d earmarked today as the day I’d do the clean. I also decided to clean it properly instead of just re-organise. So, off came the doona and sheets, then the mattress and finally bed slats. Oof, that was a job to do on my own. Mattresses are heavy, in case you didn’t know. I gained access to the space under my bed and began sorting, promptly remembering why I hate cleaning.

Dust. I reckon I’m mildly allergic to dust mites or something, because even with a bandanna wrapped around the lower half of my face, I still sneezed and coughed.  Bah!
It took a while to re-arrange and sort stuff. I discovered I had a bit more room under there than I thought, which is good. If I need to, I can start another keepbox under there.

As it is, I’ve come away with things all neatened and ready to be ‘forgotten’ about for another six months.

Tip: after cleaning, have a cool drink and go outside for some fresh air. Also, open the windows in your room to get any residual dust out.

Anyone else hate cleaning or have a similar pet peeve? What would be/is your nickname if it was based on a personality quirk?