I've enjoyed messy, dusty places up until I left my parents' home. I then quickly realised the messiness was simply meant to piss them off. Not only had their tidiness got to me, I was even worst. A cleaning freak, sneaking to remove bread crumbs from under the kitchen table and losing breath over hairs on the bathroom floor. Unpopular as a student housemate, and a source of amazed laughter once in a relationship.
It's not germ phobia, or a creepy enjoyment of cleaning activities. On the contrary, I don't dismiss food after it hits the floor, nor do I find any fun in scrubbing surfaces.
I'm a cleaning freak because my home should be the retreat where things are controllable and make sense and smell good. I get new energy from a cleaned house, it somehow puts order in my thoughts as well, and makes me want to make plans, dream, work.
The downside: it's a cycle. The fresh kick may last a week, after which I'm assaulted by little traumas with every pile of dust.
It's not germ phobia, or a creepy enjoyment of cleaning activities. On the contrary, I don't dismiss food after it hits the floor, nor do I find any fun in scrubbing surfaces.
I'm a cleaning freak because my home should be the retreat where things are controllable and make sense and smell good. I get new energy from a cleaned house, it somehow puts order in my thoughts as well, and makes me want to make plans, dream, work.
The downside: it's a cycle. The fresh kick may last a week, after which I'm assaulted by little traumas with every pile of dust.
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