I used to have one of those houses where everything was in its place and clean. I even had houseplants. They lived! And not just the aloe plants and the cacti I watered whenever it rained in Las Cruces. I had a Norfolk Island Pine that grew to be about three feet tall. Sure, there was cat hair wafting around occasionally, but the place looked great. Then, I married a pack-rat. Actually, a cluttermeleon. A cluttermeleon is one step worse than a pack-rat. A cluttermeleon keeps so much stuff he loses himself in it. It's contagious, too. Not that I was choosing to keep stuff, just that I got tired of getting rid of stuff I considered valuable so he could keep boxes of faded receipts and out of date catalogs. This guy was a Collier Brother in the making.
I finally got tired of cleaning. Whereas I previously cleaned everything, I started finding myself exhausted whenever I started. Finally, I realized I wasn't physically tired, I was emotionally tired. So, I got out of the marriage.
Now, my house isn't perfect, to say the least, but it's better. It's down to the "sexy cowgirls have messy kitchens" catagory.
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