I have a confession that my Mom will read and think "I knew she would grow to be that kind of person."
My apartment is a mess. It's such a mess that a maid would walk in, disappear into the abyss of crap all over the floor, and never been heard from again. Well, that's assuming the maid could even get in the door.
Since we got home from vacation the apartment has gone from mostly clean to every closet and cabinet exploded and their contents landed on the floor. My hallway looks like a graveyard of bras, they're all thrown of the floor, waiting for me to stumble out of bed one morning, hook my foot in a strap, trip, and give myself another concussion. The kitchen in a wasteland of empty soda cans waiting to be carried down to the recycling bin. The bathroom is home to a hairball that's so big, I thought it was one of my pets and tried to pet it the other day.
I bet you're wondering why I just don't clean up. Why I don't just hunker down and get it over with. If it only were that easy. Life keeps getting in the way of me cleaning. Sewing class on Tuesday night. Book group Wednesday. Warriors game last night. Book signing tonight. Maybe on Saturday I'll have time. Maybe.