I think my brain is playing a subtle trick on me. Over the last couple of weeks it’s had me picking things up here and there, washing up a bit more than I normally would, putting clothes away instead of having them on a drying rack all the time (QUICKER ACCESS) and other such things.
It’s got to the point where I actually tidied – and properly cleaned (to some extent) – the desk at which I’m sitting right now. I have literally used this desk once before the tidying, when I attempted to paint and failed miserably.
Well, I mean I did actually manage to paint. It’s just the painting looked like it had been produced by a particularly un-artistic four-year-old. With no hands.
Then there was the kitchen incident, where my brain convinced me to wash up all the other dirty crockery that was lying around, even though I wasn’t about to use it to consume noodles from. Bizarre.
But weirdest of all has to be today, where on finishing up a particularly viscous (yet malty) poo my brain convinced me – all too easily – to clean the bathroom. Only a bit. But there was spraying of cleaning products. Wiping. Rinsing. Removal of beard hairs from the tiled wall. It was… strange.
But I’ve caught the dastardly brain out now. I know its plan and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. The next time it attempts to subtly make me tidy my flat I am going to either medicate it with beer or run as fast as I can into the nearest wall, head-first.
That’ll show the sneaky fucker.
I don’t think I need a maid – something I’ve often thought about. Alright not ‘often’. More like ‘just then, then I thought I’ll do a blog about that it’ll be WELL GOOD’. Anyway, I don’t think I need to hire someone to clean for me.
It’s not that my flat is tidy or nice in any way – it’s a shithole the likes of which only I can create, and it’s getting progressively worse. Especially as I’m too lazy/forgetful/scared to tell the landlord about all the things that have broken so he can fix them.
But I don’t think I need someone to come in and sort it out. What I need is someone to come in and just move stuff around a bit. I just looked at my table and there’s stuff there that pre-dates the present era of Dransfield singledom. I’m talking vitamins, anti-inflammatory cream and some other stuff, not like food or beetle carcasses.
I also rarely realise how dusty stuff gets, for two reasons. One, I never touch it so why would I even look at it? And two, it gets to the point that there’s so much dust on it if I do look at it I just assume it’s meant to look like that.
So yeah, I need someone to come and move my stuff around from time to time, before dusting pretty much everything. Oh, and they can fix the broken shit too. I might just buy myself a new hotplate for my birthday. CELEBRATION.
I have realised I would like an extra hour or two each day in which I am allowed to do my sitting/gaming/reading/gambling/whatevering without the nagging feeling that I have something else to do. I mean, how do you people manage it? Having to cook, and clean, and wash your clothes and all that shit? Granted I only really bother with the food bit. And sometimes the clothes, but only after each pair of pants has been worn for eight weeks straight. Got to get some real use out of them, after all.
You never know, in that hour or so I waste having to do things I might come up with the next great novel – the Da Vinci Code 2, or something. This Time It’s Da Vinci-er. I reckon that could work. I have copyright on that idea too, so screw you all.
Anyway, as a result of wanting a bit more time and a bit less necessity to do things for myself, I would like to formally place an advert for a servant. You do not have to be live-in, but if I get scotch egg cravings at 4am and you don’t get me my damn scotch egg within four minutes I’ll be might pissed. So it might work in your favour to sleep on my floor. It’ll be clean there, if you’re doing your job right.
Anyway, the main benefits are as follows:
- You get to hear my voice all the time, and I have a great definitely-not-annoying voice.
- I can pay you in food. The food that you make.
- You get to pay for food.
- The ants are in the process of being genocided in their stupid ant faces.
- I will only shout at you sometimes. Well, most of the time.
- I will only communicate to you by shouting.
- If you cook something crap for me you get to be beaten up by me.
- You get to wash my dirty grundies.
- I have an iron!
It’s so worth it, I expect applications to flood in over the next few days. Closing date is the 30th. Successful applicants will be called in for an initial beating to see how well you take it, followed by a food cooking session should you pass the initial round. Apologies, but I cannot be bothered to respond to those of you I hate. Good luck!