Everybody tells you so: moving isn’t easy. My old man told me once that it’s the highest cause of stress, together with the death of a beloved (I wonder if it’s really that terrible, though, dad overreacts sometimes). The truth is that changing apartments means a lot of work! These days, when my moving is only a few days away, I’m on the lookout for boxes, coming and going into all the supermarkets of my neighborhood. Some employees already know me and keep the boxes apart especially for me. Others aren’t so cool, they won’t give you anything. I mean, they’re just boxes, you can’t expect me toy pay for them, can you?
Another chore I’m into is the one that gives a title to this post: a big cleaning of the whole apartment, which has been empty for several years. The bathroom was full of stains, not to mention the disgusting kitchen –replete of dead cockroaches, long time dried-. I discovered the use of different cleaning products, those ones which so far I’ve only known through silly and sexist TV spots. I fought the toughest dirt and I scrubbed the washtub until it was sparkling shiny, mint-smelled, I-can-see-my-reflection-on-its-surface clean.
Some way I’ve got all this new sympathy for all those (particularly women, I don’t know why) who are obsessed about the cleaning of their house: a time came when I would tell myself “can’t stop now, everything’s shinier, got to keep on until it’s perrrrfect…”. Maybe the only difference between me and these poor ladies is that, after a few minutes, stinking, my hands smelling of lye and with painful elbows, I did say “what the hell, it’ll get dirty again”, I got changed and called it a day.