I love to vacuum. Like, a totally abnormal amount. It's definitely the weirdest thing about me— at least from the obsessive compulsive, slightly crazy side. To me, there is just something so relaxing and refreshing about vacuuming. I love nothing better than a vacuumed room. Give me those perfect little lines of cleanliness in a really plush carpet and you've pretty much made my day.
I've actually relaxed a bit with this habit. When I was growing up I had vacuuming hours. I was not allowed, under any circumstances, to vacuum after 9 p.m. But trust me, I did plenty of it before (and occasionally would try to sneak and do it later). I recall being slightly ashamed that I felt the need to go vacuum my room every night after dinner, but I couldn't help myself. I actually had a path through my room that basically led to the bed, closet and bathroom. I never allowed myself to step into the other sections of the room for fear of messing up the lines. To be honest, I still kind of avoid those sections.
My brother, on the other hand, loved nothing more than running into my room, stomping all over the smooth lines and running out. I wanted to murder him. But usually I was too busy running for the vacuum to go after him. I was probably the only teenager in the world with her own supply of Resolve, vacuum bags and carpet scrubbers in her bedroom.
The thing is, after I went to college, I had to start getting over this. It wasn't easy. I definitely enjoyed borrowing the vacuum from the RA more than the average college freshman. When things really changed was when I got Rosie. My insane dachshund has forced me to become about a million times more laid back than I ever was before. These days I consider carpet clean if Rosie's not in the middle of crapping on it.
The crazy thing is though, I think the guy in the condo above mine may just be an obsessive vacuumer. It's 11:30 p.m. right now and he is vacuuming. Clearly, he doesn't abide by the vacuum curfew. He vacuums all the time. Morning, noon, night. I hear him. And I get a little envious sometimes, I'll admit. It's kind of how I'd imagine a recovering drug addict feels when they smell pot or the way a Weight Watchers success story feels when they see McDonalds. I want it.
More than anything I just want to see the inside of his condo. I imagine it's just wall to wall beautiful, pristine carpet. Chances are, I'm wrong. He has a large dog and all of the condos have hard wood floors. But, it's such a nice fantasy and it would explain the vacuuming. And, well, it makes me happy to think of it that way because even if I've been doomed to a lifetime of dirty rugs, someone should be so lucky.
2 comments:
Two weekends ago, I steam cleaned my carpets. It was truly gratifying. Until 24 hours later when I stepped on Sawyer's tail while carrying a steaming mug of tea and lurched forward, splashing hot tea all over my freshly steam cleaned rug. Since then I have been applying carpet cleaner daily. If you'd like to come to my house and re-steam clean that part of my rug, I'd be happy to let you do it. I'll even let you vacuum my closet, where all the link and shoe-dirt is.... it makes a very satisfying "sucking stuff up" sound when you vacuum in there.
Sarah, I wish I had known this about you sooner...I absolutely HATE vacuuming and try my darnedest to get my roommate to do all the vacuuming. Had I known you loved it so much, I would've invited you over to vacuum every day!
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