|megpie71 (megpie71) wrote,|
@ 2008-06-03 18:20:00
I believe I may have mentioned this before...
I loathe housework.
It's boring, annoying, and frustrating. It needs doing over and over and over and over again. It never alters, never changes, never becomes more interesting.
And today I've just been reminded of yet another bloody chore I've been neglecting. This time, it's the ritual of cleaning out the pantry.
Now, when I lived with my parents, I used to do this for my mother on a reasonably regular basis, getting rid of things which had been purchased ages back for some reason, then never used. However, now I have my own house, and the pantry by and large is full of stuff I put in it, and I know why it's all there. So I haven't cleaned it. Today, I was just having a look around in the pantry for reasons of distraction when I happened to look upward. There were grubs of some kind crawling over the pantry ceiling.
So, I sprayed the Pea-Beu into the pantry, and left it all shut up for a bit, while I tried to get over the sudden attack of fury and annoyance which hit me. Most of it, of course, is tied up in my own expectations of myself, as per my heritage as a white, Australian female of thirty-whistle years who was brought up by a mother some thirty years older than herself - I have this strong expectation I shouldn't have insects in the pantry at all. Certainly not insect grubs. I feel as though I've failed as a housekeeper as a result.
Now I have to gear myself up to clean out the pantry, completely and totally, from go to whoa. Wipe down all the shelves, throw out all the things which are out of date, clean up all the odds and sods which have wound up in there, and completely clear out all signs of grubs, insects and similar. Then wait six weeks and see if the problem recurs (which it may very well do).
I'll probably be okay with the whole issue tomorrow, but right now I feel angry with myself for having let things go on this long without cleaning in there. Part of me knows the anger is completely out of proportion to the extent of the problem, but it's hard to listen to that part over the chorus from the back of my brain which is screaming things about squalor, filth, disgusting and all the rest of it. Himself, on the other hand, is looking at it and saying "oh well, we'll make a project of it", which while being practical isn't doing a damn thing for the martyr node of my brain, which wants me to self-immolate, or at the very least, clean the whole damn mess up myself.
Tomorrow, I should have my sense of proportion back. I hope.