As per my earlier determination, I've been virtuous and attempted to stay busy all day with cleaning and other last-minute details before I head up to the Salt Lake aeroport tomorrow evening to go pick up Sebastian. Part of this determination included attacking the upstairs floors. The carpets - in a shameful state, thanks in part to Scott's neglect to clean any dirt not on his clothes - and the hardwood required heavy reinforcements. Unable to call in the aid of the dust mop, I had to content myself with sweeping and then mopping the floor. Of course, the fact that I didn't quite trust any of the mops left me with the option of going hands-and-knees with a damp cloth like Cinderella. Of course, Cinderella didn't have an iPod to keep her occupied whilst cleaning, she could only sing her own renditions of the songs her step-sisters were butchering upstairs. Not to mention, I don't think Cinderella ever really got her cleaning groove on to anything like Celia Cruz or Justin Timberlake. (Wait, what did I just admit to?)
The poor laundry machine is probably begging me for a rest, and considering its admirable service record for the day, I'm inclined to grant it a brief furlough. I must admit that this is one of the perks to having procrastinated a good deal of the work I had to do for the coming fortnight: I now have enough to keep me sufficiently occupied until the time comes to scuttle off to Salt Lake City tomorrow. Sehr fantastisch.
On to bigger and better things now that my Subway-fuelled break is over: tackling the kitchen in what may become a struggle of Iliadic proportions. Clearly, in this ill-conceived metaphor I am Achilles and the kitchen can be Hector...or perhaps just Pandarus so there are fewer casualties.
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