My weapon of choice these days on the cleaning scene is a razor blade. Unconventional, I know, but it borders on magic. Because we’re down to the nitty-gritty, the impossible-to-clean-for-the-past-five-years. The hard water build-up at the edge of faucet handles, from when we had hard water, before nano-filtration came into our lives. And the flat cooktop stove! Which looked mostly clean, but still each burner retained a stubborn border, in spite of multiple scrapings and specifically-tailored cleaning products. Now, post-razor blade? Spotless. The blading was so successful, I’m almost annoyed. It’s like five lostyears. Although now I know. For the future.
Do I sound a bit manic about the remaining details? Perhaps. Sure. But our listing overall looks awesome, no? And so I’m bent on carrying that awesomeness down through the minutiae. It’s seriously a zen practice when it comes down to it, meditative practically, melting away certain vestiges of anxiety. No, really…
St. Joseph is buried in the yard. Which, looking at the accompanying prayer, is sort of harsh. “I am going to place in a difficult position with your head in darkness and you will suffer as our Lord suffered, until this house is sold.” Sheesh. But I fully expect he’ll do what we’re asking of him, which essentially, “bringing [us] a good buyer, one who is eager, compliant, and honest, and by letting nothing impede the rapid conclusion of the sale.” Go St. Joseph, go.
Meanwhile, I’ve discovered a bit of unsavory news regarding the place we’re moving – although I guess it’s the entire state? But still. Apparently they have a problem with stinkbug infestations. I mean, ew. They try to sneak inside for the winter, and if you vacuum them up, it’s a mistake. A grave mistake. I mean, I’m not sure I find them quite as repulsive as roaches
or the unspeakable bedbugs, but it’s displeasing news nonetheless.
It’s Sunday, which means two things. One (I assume), Top Model has finally been posted online. So I’ll be watching promptly. Two, it’s chili day! Weeee! I’ve been looking forward to it all week. Otherwise, I’m clearly approaching that “quieter place,” where Grandmother covers her face, or however it goes. I’m totally feeling exhausted, preoccupied and anti-social, and picky about everything. All prospective reading materials fail to appear consumable. And I can’t even watch Glee anymore, because that Rachel girl’s diva-ness was all of a sudden unredeemable and sent me over the edge.
I expect to hear soon all about the singalong, lack of jury duty (woo!) and other shenanigans. I’m off to start the chili, and perhaps change out of pajamas. Maybe.