I hate cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen.

Seriously, I hate it.

My roommate and I have a schedule: we switch off cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen every two weeks, so, ideally, we each have this task once a month.  Now, both of us are busy, and at least I am kind of lazy, so we stretch it out to cleaning every 3 1/2 to 4 weeks.    So the last time I cleaned was 2 months ago.

You would think considering how infrequent a chore it is I wouldn’t act like the sky is falling.  But you would be wrong.  And over-estimating the kind of adult I am.

The whole process of cleaning both rooms takes about an hour and a half.  Neither is particularly big, especially the bathroom, and it’s the only time that I applaud the extremely limited counter-space in my apartment.  No matter what, by the end of the process I am sweating like a mafia boss in court and have a pounding headache because there is NO ventilation in my apartment.  But neither of these facts is the reason that I don’t like it.

I hate cleaning the bathroom and the kitchen because I choose to do so when my roommate is not in the apartment.  I think it’s nicer that way, for both of us.  But, because of this choice I have to clean at times when I could be vegging out on the couch, or reading, or napping, or even out doing something (okay, that last one is unlikely, but it could happen someday).  I get very pissy about what I consider “my” time and don’t want to give that up to do something as unpleasant as cleaning the bathroom and kitchen.  And so, in my pissy-ness the weeks pass; 2 turns into 3, 3 turns into 4.  Suddenly, I’m tip-toeing around the bathroom after my shower, trying not touch anything or linger too long.  And it becomes just embarrassing for everyone, and I avoid talking to my roommate because I don’t want her to bring up the fact that it is my turn to clean and I haven’t because I have been vegging/reading/sleeping/whatever.

I make my life kind of awkward and slightly miserable by childishly holding on to a concept that doesn’t work: my time.

I have always thought that I was a generous person when it came to time.  I would be willing to be there for family/friends on the phone or in person whenever they needed and for however long.  I wouldn’t say no to people if they needed someone to talk to, or cheering up, or whathaveyou.  But as my life has become more demanding (in some ways) I have become stingier with my time.  I’ve started guarding any time that doesn’t HAVE to be devoted to work, Church, or family/friends like it’s the zombie apocalypse and “my” time is the last weapon on Earth.  

But, it’s not really my time, is it?  I’ve caught myself up in an idea that was false from the start.  I didn’t create time and then allot it to myself.  I’m gifted with the same amount each day as everybody else, and holding onto it isn’t going to give me more, or make it better, or actually do anything.  I’m so attached to a false idea that I am not honoring an agreement that I made with my roommate when I moved in.  An agreement, by the way, that is not all the taxing, but I make into something quite taxing by not honoring it in the first place because I don’t think I should have to spend “my” time doing so.

It makes me wonder how many other things that are problems in my life are actually the result of my assertion that I own something?  

Wait, maybe I don’t want the answer to that.

The bathroom and the kitchen are clean by the way.  And I took out the garbage and the recycling.  Nap time!

(1 Year, 9 Months and 4 Days Sober)