Mess with the best
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I hate housework, but I love a tidy apartment. The problem being, of course, getting it to that nice, tolerable state that doesn't look like disaster struck or a fire hazard. I started spring cleaning the other day - not getting very far before I stopped - and left myself in that lovely position all massive clean-up jobs face: the storm before the calm. You know, when it's messier than before you started; the crap pile that makes you dream of back hoes and eschewing attachment to material possessions of any kind, just so you don't ever have to finish the job.