Quick someone. Send someone around to inspect my house and present me with a domestic goddess award. With any luck the amazing level of cleanliness won't last. It's not that I don't like a clean house. I like nothing more. It's just, well, I don't like cleaning and given we don't have a cleaner that presents a problem. The males who inhabit the same living space really couldn't care if it was clean or not hence the plaque in my kitchen that reads "Doing housework is like stringing beads without a know in the end". The destruction causes by Cyclone Oliver as he tears through the house in the afternoon after school is enough to make any sane individual turn off the vacuum cleaner and have a little sit down.
But there is one exception and that's why I today award myself a domestic goddess award even if you won't.
When I'm stressed I clean like a woman possessed. And with mounting piles of marking and a lot to get through before the Easter break there was a whole lot of "purposeful" cleaning happening today.
It's like things will be more in control if things look like they are in control. Which just goes to show appearances can be deceptive. Like this scene at the Lakes at the University of Queensland this afternoon. How peaceful and serene it looks. Except it was anything but. It was witching hour and the noise was extraordinary. The feeding frenzy was on and everyone within kilometres would have known about it. These guys were showing the same level of purpose that I applied to cleaning. I suspect the results will last about as long. By tomorrow morning it will be like it never happened. Sigh