So a few weeks ago, I got a letter in the mail from my apartment complex telling me I had 21 days to completely clean and sanitize my apartment, or be evicted. (Of course, that deadline was today.) Well! I knew I wasn't the best housekeeper, and in fact I had at that time a pair of garbage bags sitting there waiting to go out to the Dumpster when it wasn't raining, and a few pizza boxes as well. So I spent the last three weeks stressing about getting this apartment as clean as I, a single male, could make it. (I knew it wasn't going to match my aunt's standards, or even my mother's, but why let the perfect be the enemy of the good?) I will say that I can see much more carpet now (not that I don't have a lot of books, it's just that instead of a lot of really small piles, I now have fewer, larger, ones). I scrubbed down the kitchen, and as much of the bathroom as I could given the fact that the drains went wonky over Thanksgiving weekend.
It turns out that that wasn't the point *at all*. The point, as far as my apartment complex was concerned, was that since I was supposed to get my carpet replaced (see water heater, above) they wanted *everything* out of my living room. In fact, during the walkthrough this morning, the maintenance person went straight to the living room, looked around, and said, "You know you'll still need to have all this stuff in boxes to get the new carpet in." I agreed, we set a date for new carpet (which I cannot decline, since I didn't make the first one), and that was that.
The place needed to be cleaned up anyway. Good thing I had three weeks.