Things have gotten worse since I began living alone six years ago. At least when you have a roommate, you are accountable to someone. Now I know it's bad when I have to apologize to the cat. I cannot have people spontaneously stop by. Instead of doing things I want to do in my spare time -- shopping for clothes or furniture, going on dates, etc., I often end up trying to pick up, to fend off the disgustingness that will inevitably take over the apartment. And I do mean disgusting:
- There is a spot on the hardwood floor where the foil top of a large yogurt container landed face down.
- The cat threw up earlier this week on my ottoman. It's still there.
- There is no room on the dining table, which is full of dishes, newspapers, and yes, two sex toys (this is why I am not telling my friends about this blog).
- I took expired food out of the refrigerator to dispose of. It is still sitting on my kitchen counter, replete with fruit flies (rotting grape tomatoes, nayonaise that expired last December, a jug of maple syrup that I discovered was moldy when I was pouring it onto a bowlful of yogurt).
- The hallway smells like the cat litter that has been scooped into bags, waiting to be taken to the outside dumpster. The litter pan itself has not been cleaned since late May (yes, I still scoop the dirty stuff, but haven't replaced the litter or washed the pan).
Will having a blog hold me more accountable? Stay tuned.
