What a ridiculous excuse for an animal.
Me, I mean.
Do you remember my very recent whine and moan about my inability to cope with the simplest of home maintenance?
You do? Well today, my dad announced he was coming to visit. What the fuck… no… my apartment… my filthy embarassing apartment… I’ve been lying to my family for months about how I’ve turned my life around and started keeping a clean house, which I find helps me organise my thoughts… blah blah I’m so full of shit.
Well, I cleaned it.
In an hour.
That’s all it took. An hour. And now my apartment is spotless. And I didn’t even do a half-assed, it’s about to get surface inspected, shove everything in the wardrobe and under the bed job. I really cleaned it.
I’d say I’ve never been more ashamed of myself in my life, but that would be a blatant lie. I live on the corner of Shame Boulevard and Awkward Street. In a cardboard box. This is nothing to how ashamed… but that’s not the point. The point is, I’m a melodramatic asshole who spent longer writing a post on how useless I am at cleaning, than it actually took to make my apartment look and smell AWESOME.
Sometimes I want to punch myself in the face, but very very gently.