16:30
So, 48 hours later, my apartment is now clean and ready for the start of decluttering. It’s been a long two days — and a good example of the obsessive part of OCD. I hurt all over. Even my fingers hurt . (One of the many drawbacks to being a nail biter is that the flesh to the sides of the nail tip get very sensitive and scrubbing and the use of cleaners makes them very sore. If there are typos or missing spaces in this post, this is why.) I’m almost dizzy with lack of sleep. I just about asphyxiated myself with over zealous use of bleach. My allergies are in overdrive. My tongue is swollen (enough that I’m lisping slightly and keep biting the sides of my tongue). But it’s done.
- Living room, post-clean, pre-declutter. The pile on the right is about 5′ high and runs the length of the L-shaped couch to the wall.
I found I started feeling lighter as I cleaned more and more. I need to remember this feeling. I broke the hose on my steam cleaner so no more carpet cleaning until I get that replaced — I have mixed feelings about that. And I got so into cleaning the bathroom that I decided to sacrifice my toothbrush to the cause. Unfortunately, I have barely slept and haven’t eaten much more than a few Pop Tarts so I’m a little loopy.
23:00
Managed to get a small nap in, but got woken by someone knocking on my door at 18:30. My leg was asleep so I didn’t get to the door (and almost broke my neck falling) before they moved on to the next one. Now am wide awake again. The tongue swelling is starting to go away, and I’ve eaten. So I’m feeling somewhat better.
A final little story: A couple of years ago I was doing this same kind of major cleanout. I had a few large garbage bags of stuff to throw out that required I go down to the dumpsters downstairs. I got the lid up and the bags into the dumpster. Then I lost control of the lid while closing it. Given that it was very early in the morning at the time and I was very concerned about being noisy and waking the neighbours, I decided that it made really good sense to put my hand in between the very heavy metal lid and the edge of the dumpster. By the time I realized what a horribly bad choice that was, it was too late. The lid slammed down and very quietly broke my hand. I held in the “Ow, ow, ow”s until I got back to my apartment.
I was happy to see tonight as I was throwing out some bags of junk that the dumpsters all have split lids now (much lighter) and they’ve all been left open (presumably there’s no worry about smell and whatnot given the cold). So no danger of a repeat performance. Thanks, Universe, for that.
Life Begins at 41...or maybe 43 