Domesticity
Nov. 29th, 2001 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladyspriteI've been told by friends that a clean house is a sign of a simple mind; that smart people all must have messy houses because we're just not dull enough to be amused and interested by something as mundane and non-intellectual as housework. And while my ground state is cluttered, and I sometimes agree, every once in a while I'm overwhelmed by an insatiable need to tidy up.
Part of it, I'm sure, is that I'm new to this whole place-of-my-own stuff. I've had my own room before, but never an entire apartment that belonged just to me, and the funds to decorate it as anything other than Early Student Hovel. So it's still fascinating and fun, and I'm still rather proud of having my own place - I want it to be something I can show off.
The rest of it, I think, stems from my inner girliness. I'm probably far too feminine for my own good, and I have a deep-seated need for dust ruffles, lace curtains, and little depression glass bowls filled with colorful potpourri. I try not to go overboard, but the whole effect is spoiled when things get way too messy.
So I spent my day off yesterday in an old pair of secondhand sweat pants and a tank top (which is just wrong. In the end of November, I should not be comfortable in a tank top with the windows open), bustling around sweeping and scrubbing and generally scaring the cats.
Cleaning really isn't too bad when it's your own place, and there isn't a demonic authority figure hanging over your head refusing you dinner or tv priveleges if you don't have your closet alphabetized. It's also much more fun when you have someone to keep you company. My boyfriend is reading 'Fellowship of the Rings' to me - he's a devoted Tolkien fan, and the last time I tried to conquer the books was in 9th grade. Both he and the upcoming movie have convinced me to give them a second try, and I'll admit they're much more enjoyable this time, either because I'm in a better frame of mind or because they're better to listen to than to read.
And now I'm the proud renter of a lovely, tidy apartment. The knicknacks are spotless, my stove shines like the full moon, and there isn't a dirty dish to be found. I even have a lovely new kitchen table, an early birthday present from my mom, so it's starting to look like a place where someone lives, and not a temporary hideaway to stash boxes.
Of course, this won't last long. I'll forget to wash my mugs, and my socks will wind up under the coffee table, and my cats will shed all over the carpet in bizarre crop-circle-like patterns. But it's lovely while it lasts....
Part of it, I'm sure, is that I'm new to this whole place-of-my-own stuff. I've had my own room before, but never an entire apartment that belonged just to me, and the funds to decorate it as anything other than Early Student Hovel. So it's still fascinating and fun, and I'm still rather proud of having my own place - I want it to be something I can show off.
The rest of it, I think, stems from my inner girliness. I'm probably far too feminine for my own good, and I have a deep-seated need for dust ruffles, lace curtains, and little depression glass bowls filled with colorful potpourri. I try not to go overboard, but the whole effect is spoiled when things get way too messy.
So I spent my day off yesterday in an old pair of secondhand sweat pants and a tank top (which is just wrong. In the end of November, I should not be comfortable in a tank top with the windows open), bustling around sweeping and scrubbing and generally scaring the cats.
Cleaning really isn't too bad when it's your own place, and there isn't a demonic authority figure hanging over your head refusing you dinner or tv priveleges if you don't have your closet alphabetized. It's also much more fun when you have someone to keep you company. My boyfriend is reading 'Fellowship of the Rings' to me - he's a devoted Tolkien fan, and the last time I tried to conquer the books was in 9th grade. Both he and the upcoming movie have convinced me to give them a second try, and I'll admit they're much more enjoyable this time, either because I'm in a better frame of mind or because they're better to listen to than to read.
And now I'm the proud renter of a lovely, tidy apartment. The knicknacks are spotless, my stove shines like the full moon, and there isn't a dirty dish to be found. I even have a lovely new kitchen table, an early birthday present from my mom, so it's starting to look like a place where someone lives, and not a temporary hideaway to stash boxes.
Of course, this won't last long. I'll forget to wash my mugs, and my socks will wind up under the coffee table, and my cats will shed all over the carpet in bizarre crop-circle-like patterns. But it's lovely while it lasts....
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no subject
Date: 2001-11-30 01:55 pm (UTC)Have I mentioned recently that you're an amazing woman?
You are.
(Pay no mind to those who might scoff at your clean home.)
Bill
no subject
Date: 2001-12-18 03:14 am (UTC)Sometimes those jokes can be empowering, too. "So you can't clean house; big whoop. You can (X), and (X)ing is a lot more important than cleaning house!", and "you're so intelligent that you'd have to be bored cleaning house" reinforces that kind of thing.
I don't think anyone seriously means it to say "if you can keep your house clean (or have the urge to clean from time to time, or whatever), you're not as intelligent as your average slob". If someone does, I think they're missing the point.