Spring has sprung and while the flowers are in bloom, we at The Yearbook Office know that now is the season for cleaning! With dust bunnies and the citrusy scent of cleaning supplies in the air, we decided to ask the Yearbook Office Contributors what was on their spring cleaning to-do lists.
If you know me at all, you know that my spring cleaning already got done. I will be hosting the entire Yearbook Office Contributors Group at an "Eat Off My Floors" party next week, and then I'll surprise you all by revealing that it's an "Eat Off My BATHROOM Floors" party. Seriously, we are going to have cupcakes and admire the shining S-curve of my toilet.
I grew up in an old testament cult. So spring did not mean Easter, pastel colors and chocolate eggs, we didn't celebrate that. Instead we celebrated the "Days of Unleavened Bread". For a week we lived without leavening; without yeast, or any other baking component that causes dough to rise. Not only did we not eat it, but we had to remove it from our house. All of it. Every last crumb. I have vivid memories of cleaning out toasters, wiping out cabinets, throwing away perfectly good food and everyone's favorite part, getting on my hands and knees under the sink at Grandma's house to scrub behind the trash can. Now, come spring, I'm pretty happy to throw crumbs on the floor and eat in my bed. For a few days, until it makes me crazy and I start scrubbing the filthy off.
I've definitely got to clean out the tiny, shitty bacterial civilization living under my furthest-back, bottom-left molar. My dentist has been working on their extermination for two weeks now, but they seem to be extremely resilient. I expect to recover Atlantean artifacts, or maybe some fossilized Cheetos, on Monday when we resume the dig.
Brush your teeth, kids. You don't want Atlanteans settling amongst your odontoblasts.
This spring I plan to open the windows, listen to the sound of neighborhood children playing in the street, close the windows, make a list of books to read, play four hundred rounds of Threes, unsubscribe from long-favored podcasts in a fit of self-righteous rage, resubscribe after a few days, go outside to read in the hammock, get in the hammock, thrash about in the hammock, pretend to be comfortable in the hammock, drop my book under the hammock, play Threes on my phone while listening to podcasts in the hammock, go inside to make dinner, try to make something interesting for dinner, drop dinner on the floor, make popcorn for emergency dinner, burn the popcorn, open the windows, forget to close the windows, wake up to the sound of neighborhood drinkers yelling in the street, close the windows, try to fall back asleep, lie awake making lists of things to do and ways to die and my innumerable faults and inadequacies, get up, make tea, open the windows, sweep the floor and call it a day.
Growing up, my mother cleaned obsessively. It was her only hobby. Our house was always spotless and I was expected to maintain this level of cleanliness in my room. When I got to college, all these good habits of keeping a neat living space disappeared almost immediately. Nowadays, if you were to visit my apartment you would just find piles and piles of stuff on every flat surface and you would be right to think "Wow, Alice is one magazine subscription away from appearing on Hoarders". I am not happy that I live this way, but I also do not feel compelled to change. Mostly I exist in a perpetual state of guilt, "I know I should clean, but I am not going to."
That is, until people are coming over. The thought of someone seeing my filthy abode is so frightening to me that I will clean every inch of my apartment in anticipation of someone just running up to use my bathroom. And in the broken logic of my brain, because I like having a clean apartment, I really enjoy it when people come over, forcing me to clean before-hand.
So friends, come hang out at my place! You may not realize it, but just by being here you will be saving me from myself.