29.2.12

ENG Ultradimensional cleaning/The Challenge of the 29th February

(versione italiana qui)
Lately, my time has not been interrupted by extraordinary events. 
Lately, my time has not been sucked by some neutrino strolling beneath my feet in the cyclotron of the CERN.
Lately, my time has not  been completely blown away by the climber Viatrix or  by organizing the perpetual wash - pack  -unpack - wash cycle of the suitcases needed for the Senator's business trips and for our accompanying and / or pleasure trips as motherdaughter entity.
It is much more serious: since 10 days I live in an  expandable size of Mess made of constant  worth: I put in order one corner and the Mess grows in the other one, like the merciless T-1000 who was always reassembling himself out of its drops just few seconds after having been  blown up by a bazooka shot of Schwarzenegger. Reloaded like the villainous Agent Smith, despite Keanu was filling his neck  bone of kung fu moves.
10 days ago, at my return from Warsaw, I became aware of the fact that our apartment has met and far
exceeded the limits of livability (by way of example but not limited to: flood risk every time you open closet: 99%, average time used to retrieve a tube of toothpaste on the sink shelf 3 minutes, attempts required to close each drawer 4), so I decided to commit myself not only to clean and wash the ordinary minimum needed for survival (what's inside the last suitcase), but to give a good settle to all that Mess. 
And this is how I came to realize that something it is actually weird:  since10 days I perform thousands of operations related to the verbs of cleaning (dust off, fold, wash, dry, hang, hoover, roll, sweep, move, organize, throw, etc)  without advancing on the scale of the task in proportion to the immense effort.
The core of the Mess awaits me hot and glowing in the office room, currently nicknamed DO NOT OPEN THAT DOOR, which I will enter to dedicate myself  to the battle when, and at this point I'm afraid, only if, I'll be able to sort out everything else. 
I've noticed clear signs that something  in the Mess filling the space around me is not normal: 
I always find myself at 17.20 with kitchen and living room clean but everything else still in the darkest Mess
The basket of the dirty laundry does not empty ever, despite the exponential number of washing machines loaded and hung to dry. 
The roll of toilet paper it's always over even if the Senator is away and  the Viatrix still wears the Huggies, therefore the only user is me. 
The socks always come out of the washing machine alone. Not one lonely spared sock that represents a normality in every household,  but all of them. 
Above all, I have a terrible flow of deja vu: didn't  I already  thrown these newspapers earlier on, didn't I already put back together these gloves yesterday, didn't I already dig into this multilayer of receipts - business cards - invoices - candy wrappers graciously thrown on the top of the chest of drawers, selecting what to put into the garbage and what to return to its special containers a few days ago?
And my daughter always wakes up in the night at 2:22. 
Today is February the 29th, the day every four years.
Today  is the day that I can hope to solve the mystery of the ultra dimensional Mess (who creates it? Who moves it? Who multiplies it?) 
Or at least I can try to meet the hours17.20 with different results.
 (Hoping not to get wacked along the way like it happened to Trinity and Sarah Connor)

3 comments:

  1. Ah, the Mess! Sometimes it feel like I was defeated before I even started. And yet, like all women around the world, I keep fighting this battle day after day, hoping for a different outcome.

    A parte gli scherzi...il problema coi calzini spaiati l'abbiamo anche noi. Il cherrymarito è anche stato accusato di avere un'amante per questo motivo! Ma forse hanno una stanza segreta al Cern dove tengono in ostaggio le nostre calze ;)

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  2. I calzini spaiati hanno un loro paradiso (teoria di Capossela, che ci ha fatto una canzone, "Il Paradiso dei calzini").
    Quindi il Senator lavora al Cern. Che coraggio: so che e' dura la' dentro.
    As for the Mess, it's only creative order :)

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  3. @elle, no il Senator non lavora al CERN ma il ciclotrone e' cosi' grosso che passa tutto intorno e sotto l'area ginevrina quindi e' verosimile anche sotto i miei piedi (ora mi pare stiano scavando invece un rettilineo per giocare a bocce con gli atomi che andra' sotto il lago..)

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