I’ve had a bit of time off work recently, as I didn’t have any production shifts booked in and my stuff to do from home hasn’t been enough for a full nine to five. I’ve taken advantage of this glut of spare time, however, by doing a massive spring clean of the house (and watching two daily episodes of How I Met Your Mother, but shh, don’t tell S), which has been extremely satisfying on many levels.
It’s not exactly been a laugh a minute; I’ve had to motivate myself to snap on the Marigolds (ooh Matron!) and get going, but once I have, no stone has been left unturned. I’m talking dusting under the wardrobes, washing out the recycling bins, taking out everything from the kitchen cupboards to wipe inside, scrubbing the white stone tiles with an abrasive polish, washing the windows with a squeedgee and three cloth system, the full works, all followed by an orgy of rearranging and sorting and organising.
I’ve also gone through my wardrobe and had (yet another) sort through, and this time I’ve actually got rid of the stuff I’ve been hanging onto ‘just in case’ and consigned it to the charity shop bin bag. The result is that I have room in my wardrobe to actually push hangers along the rail, I’ve lost an underbed storage bag and the clothes in my wardrobe and chest of drawers are actually those I wear and like.
This spring cleaning marathon has taught me several important things:
1. Our dust is 90% beard trimmings and cat hair, and it’s necessary for me to wipe my (very white) desk every time I sit at it if I don’t want to stare at muddy paw prints. I’m going to start hoovering Olivia at the door from now on, and try and build an integrated mat for her paws in the cat flap tunnel. And once the weather is warm enough, S is banished to the balcony for his shaving.
2. Despite culling my wardrobe extensively over the last year or two, I still have too many shoes.
3. That having the time to clean the house and get that in order has also been great in terms of having time to look at other areas of my life and give them a whisk over with the duster. This has also been helped by reading of The Life Changing Magic of Not Giving a F**k by Sarah Knight. I’d read an extract from in the Guardian (which S also read and said I needed to buy this book) and then I’d seen other people such as Em highly recommend it. And they’re not wrong — while it is a tad overly sweary, at its core is some very sound advice: you have a finite amount of time and you cannot always do things to please other people. I am extremely guilty of this, and it drives S (and me) mad. This book gave me the chance to sit down, assess what I do with my free time and decide, actually, what I give zero fucks about (in a polite way, natch) and instead ensure I do the things that make me happy. Making the zero fucks list are scheduling catch ups with people that aren’t convenient to me, being overly polite to people in work emails and Donald Trump. There are more, and the list is an ongoing process, but just realising that I don’t have to care so much about stuff that’s not making me happy was so liberating. Fellow people pleasers, go out and buy it!
I’ve still got one more week ‘off’, as it were, which I’ll be using to forge some new work leads as well as actually taking the aforementioned culled clothes to the charity shop. (And, of course, watch some more episodes of HIMYM and wage the continual war against muddy cat prints and beard hair, but that’s a given.)