I have to clean today.
I’m putting that off by writing this even though the last thing I want to do is write. I’d much rather be sleeping.
I was up way too late last night working on a Sims post for Kmart Gamer about the new world that came out. [You can see pretty pictures on Sims 3 Gamer if you’re so inclined.]
“But, Amy! Why do you have to clean?” you ask.
A member of the apartment complex’s management and someone from maintenance is coming around tomorrow and inspecting our building. They’re going to go through our entire apartment and look for damage and assess the condition of our apartment and did I mention they’re going to go through our apartment? If they want to get all up in our closets, I have to let them. If they want to dig around under our sinks and in our cabinets, I have to let them.
And that makes me mad as hell.
I already don’t like living in an apartment because of people coming and going and the lack of privacy and all that but our apartment is our home for the time being and we get to chose who comes into our home. Except when we don’t get to chose.
We’re totally powerless and I hate that most of all.
So, tomorrow, I’ll have to stand back and let two people I don’t know–and maybe have never met–go through our home and make notes and judgments and all I can do is try to not be rude and hope Sophie doesn’t scare them with her freakishly large tongue and unnatural drive to lick every inch of skin on a person’s body.
And now I’ll pick up and clean and hate every minute of it but I figure this will be kind of like a trip to the gynecologist. Uncomfortable, rather invasive but over quickly without too much harm. How’s that for an analogy? You’re welcome.