Are We There Yet?


My God, when will it be done?  I need to lay down soon, crawl under the covers and just freaking hide.  I have been cleaning all night.  Seriously, I am not a dirty person.  I am quite tidy, ask my friends, ask my employers, ask away, I dare you.  However, I am apparently a big old slob, because my studio was just nasty.


There’s a tear in my tea.

I know what it is, I’m not good at deep cleaning, I don’t like it, I don’t do it well, and I lack the wherewithal to do it on any regular kind of basis.  I’m neat, I keep my space nicely, but I don’t scrub.  My mom once said that I needed a wife.  I don’t think she meant I was of the lesbian order, rather just that I kept myself so busy I needed somebody to pick up after me.

I am beginning to see the wisdom in this.  My time if freaking valuable and maybe, just maybe I am going to consider having some body come in and do a little deep cleaning for me once every other month or so.  I just do not want to go through what I just did again.  Fact is, the studio is probably not as clean as the management company wants it.

Fact is, I have nothing left to give.  I will probably go back again tomorrow after work and doing the deal, but unless somebody waves a big magic wand it’s not going to get much cleaner.  Another issue that the studio has, that my new place does not, thank mother fucking god, is that the studio is on the street.  And the building is old and the windows don’t seal very well, so lots of cable car dirt and traffic soot slide in through the windows.  I kept wiping things down and I must have destroyed a good four sponges just trying to get the soot off the window sills.


At this point I am quietly surrendering.  I give up.  The management company has my go ahead to charge me with a cleaning fee and a touch up painting fee.  I do not care any more.  I just want to be finished.  Now, please.  Please.

Zach, my rental agent, and his boss Michelle came by as she already has the studio rented out to somebody.  Good lord that was fast, sight unseen, and furnished.  So, Michelle wanted to come in and take measurements.  While she was doing that I asked Zach how clean I needed to have the studio.  I was pretty close to throwing in the towel when they swung by at 7:30 p.m.  He said, “leave it how you would want to move into it.”

Oh, no fair man, I’m a fucking perfectionist, it will never be good enough.  Fact is, in some instances it is actually cleaner than when I moved in.  But I knew in my heart that I had neither the time nor the energy to do the kind of justice to it that I felt and feel it needs.

I set a time limit, otherwise I would still be over there scrubbing.  And I went over my time limit by an hour.  And that was as far as I could go.  I am willing to accept the consequences of my actions, or lack there of, when it comes down to how clean I have left it.  I will probably give Zach a call in the morning and let him know I did as much as I possibly could tonight and if the studio is still open when I get home from my day tomorrow, I will make another pass through.

I have to let it go.  I need to be rested for the girls, K. is teething and was a monster today at nap time.  Screaming, and I mean screaming, not crying, I will need all my reserves.

After all, it is the girls and the job that I do with them that made this whole move possible.  I hereby vow to keep my place cleaner and not bitch or gripe about any money that comes out from the deposit.  When it is all said and done I’m fully moved in and both spaces are clean and pretty.  I am human and I think I cleaned up pretty damn good.

Literally and figuratively.

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