I need a cleaning service
A friend of mine is coming to town today and will be staying overnight at my place. As I have spent the last four months working on books, the housekeeping has fallen a bit by the wayside, which meant that the last five days have been spent cleaning all of the public rooms and the downstairs guest room. And when I say cleaning, I really mean rounding up dust rhinos, vacuuming up enough cat hair to make an additional two cats, wiping layers of dust off of every flat surface, giving the kitchen an in-depth cleaning and rendering the floor non-adhesive, and basically putting away a metric assload of shit that I’ve left to collect hither and yon. Oh, and I put my new toepiece on my cello finally — go me.
As I sit here, pondering every muscle on my body currently screaming at me and trying to convince my feet not to secede, I have decided something. I’ve spent five days sweating my ass off to make this place acceptable for guests when you know what? I could have been writing. I could have had Two to Tango pretty much 3/4 done, if not finished, and I damn well could have had the short story entry I’m doing done.
Which has led me to this decision. Come August, when we should have a major bill paid off and will have extra dosh in the house (please God), I am getting a biweekly cleaning service. Ramón will not be pleased about this at first, because he has never wanted a maid service in the past as he doesn’t like the idea of strangers being in our domicile (the fact that he often works from home and likes to work in a t-shirt and boxers has some bearing on this decision as well). But I have now spoken to female friends and relatives and learned that no man wants a maid service. As this is obviously a genetic quirk embedded in the Y chromosome, I feel that I can blithely ignore it and sign us up.
Of course, one part of me feels bad that I’m paying someone to clean my house for me. My Eastern European ancestors are probably rolling in their graves from shame that I don’t scrub the baseboards on a daily basis. But I’m taking something that Rachel Caine once told me to heart — if it gives you more time to write, it’s cost effective to hire someone to do whatever takes you away from writing. And as I’m actually starting to make money on my writing (not a lot, not yet anyway, but enough that I’ll have to pay quarterly taxes this year), I’d really rather pay Molly Maids to send over a couple of nice ladies every two weeks to give the public rooms a good once-over, and use the saved time to finish Iron Cross and get started on Breaker Zone.
So that’s my story and I’m — oops, there’s the doorbell. Off to be a hostess!