Cleanliness is next to craziness
So I’ve been spending my Columbus Day hanging out at home, cleaning various things around the house. My hopelessly overstuffed email inbox, the bathtub, the kitchen counters—hell, I just dusted the toaster, for heaven’s sake. And since cleaning doesn’t require much brainpower, I’ve been pondering whether or not spending time dusting my toaster means I’m crazy.
I’m reminded of the scene in Sex, Lies, and Videotape when Andie MacDowell’s character is seen scrubbing various surfaces in her kitchen, obsessively shining the faucet on the sink. Clearly this is a shorthand way of explicating her inner turmoil: she tries to restore precise order and cleanliness to the outside world as her inner world is being buried under giant dust bunnies and growing various species of mildew. So whenever I put on the rubber gloves (whose package always has a well-manicured smiling woman on it—shouldn’t it show a person, lightheaded from bleach fumes, trying not to hurl while clearing out the shower drain?) I start thinking about being crazy.
Am I crazy? I would much rather have things clean than dirty. I sincerely wish my whole house were a giant dishwasher-like device whereby I could walk outside, flip a giant lever, and come back in an hour to a sparkling, steamy, and well-nigh sterile environment. Although, think of the water bill. Then again, no one could accuse me of being obsessively clean. I’d rather wait until things get really dusty or dirty and then it’s so much more satisfying to see their transformation back into shiny things you might actually want to touch or walk on or whatever. That seems like a reasonable desire to have in one’s life. If I weren’t overwhelmed by liberal guilt at the thought, I might even pay someone to clean things for me once in a while, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ponder my possible state of insanity. So perhaps my behavior fails the crazy test, where I ask myself whether it’s affecting my life to the point where other people notice, or it harms my relationships, or I find myself curled into a fetal position when I realize that the mold on the bathroom ceiling spells CHENEY/HANNITY 2008. If that’s crazy, then I suppose the whole world is right there with me, and thus the asylum has become the whole world.
Have you ever noticed how much dust accumulates on desk chairs? It’s downright frightening. Remind me not to look down while I’m writing these posts.
Am I crazy? I would much rather have things clean than dirty. I sincerely wish my whole house were a giant dishwasher-like device whereby I could walk outside, flip a giant lever, and come back in an hour to a sparkling, steamy, and well-nigh sterile environment. Although, think of the water bill. Then again, no one could accuse me of being obsessively clean. I’d rather wait until things get really dusty or dirty and then it’s so much more satisfying to see their transformation back into shiny things you might actually want to touch or walk on or whatever. That seems like a reasonable desire to have in one’s life. If I weren’t overwhelmed by liberal guilt at the thought, I might even pay someone to clean things for me once in a while, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to ponder my possible state of insanity. So perhaps my behavior fails the crazy test, where I ask myself whether it’s affecting my life to the point where other people notice, or it harms my relationships, or I find myself curled into a fetal position when I realize that the mold on the bathroom ceiling spells CHENEY/HANNITY 2008. If that’s crazy, then I suppose the whole world is right there with me, and thus the asylum has become the whole world.
Have you ever noticed how much dust accumulates on desk chairs? It’s downright frightening. Remind me not to look down while I’m writing these posts.
7 comments:
I haven't cleaned my dorm room since I moved in. These days I have to "find my bed" before I sleep in it. Wait.. I can't find my mouse!
Frantix
Hire someone to clean. You'll be supporting those who are less fortunate than you. And, you get a clean home as a bonus.
TJ
TJ: Ach, but what would I blog about?
Frantix: Good lord man, you haven't been there that long! And how do they expect you to train to be an Extremely Rich Person of Note if you don't get complimentary maid service? ;)
I have combined the worst traits of both parents: I am a slob like my father, but I have really high cleaning standards like my mother. I am, therefore, fucked, because there will be one tiny area of the house which is beautiful, and the rest of it looks like a tip, because I can't maintain the whole place to motherstandard and I have father(non)motivation. It's grim. (And I also think I'm slightly mad.)
I've always said, "Neatness is a sure sign of a sick mind." ;)
Raoul - I helped you clean out your apartment - I know your stance on cleanliness very well! ;)
Glad to hear that I very well might be crazy after all. But dammit, I love my newly shiny toaster. Distracts me from all the other things that are dirty.
I just hope you're not crazy, because reading your blog made me feel like I'm not alone... They (who are they anyway?) say those who question whether they are crazy can't be crazy, coz the crazy ones think it's normal and don't question it. I think we're safe then.
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