There's nothing more calming and rejuvenating to me than cleaning. It's a weird therapy. There's no meditating. No thinking about your problems. No Talking. Just you and your cleaning implement of choice (or necessity). Taking a damp cloth to all my shiny metal bits (faucets and mirrors) and polishing them up is my favorite part. That, or vacuuming lint off of the floor and watching the rug go from a spotted mess to a freshly groomed fully patch.
Sure, it seems pretty domestic and feminine, but in the privacy of your own home there's probably no one there to tell you you're a nancy. Unless, you know, you invite people over and dress in a French maid outfit. You know who you are.
Despite all of the therapeutic benefits I still find myself loathing to begin cleaning. I'll never understand this.
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