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I love to clean. Except for scrubbing walls. I don't like scrubbing walls at all. My mom always tries to get me to scrub my walls and I resist with as much might as I can.

I love to clean and cook and do the food shopping. If this was 1951, I'd be quite the commodity. I guess times sure have changed. Now I just need to, too.

The unfortunate thing about cleaning, though, is the bug usually gets me when it's time for bed. Like now. My bedtime goal was 11. My roommate said "I'm going to scrub the tub" around 10:30 and that's all it took. I attempted to mop my bedroom floor, but the act was rather futile. It's pretty dirty, and the dirt's not going anywhere.

But, my sheets are clean and the apartment is swept, and the bathroom sparkles and the trash is ready to be taken out, the dishwasher is full and set to go, and I even washed the dishcloths. I think I'll call it a day, or, well, a night.