I hate starting blogs.

Actually, blogging in general isn't my favorite thing to do, either.

In part, that's because no one reads my blogs. Except me. And that's probably a good thing because in the end, it makes me realize several things:

1) I'm not as important as I think I am

2) No one else is as important as they think they are

3) It probably doesn't matter how clean my house is, because no one ever comes over, anyway

If you've been paying attention, you might be wondering how number three fits into the other two. Let me explain.

My husband (of twenty-three years) is a neat freak. Like, anal about neatness. I, on the other hand, enjoy a neat (and even clean!) home, but am not about to go ballistic if a dust bunny rolls out from under the bureau and attacks my foot.

Instead, I'll vacuum the crap out of out it and call it a day. But whether the dust bunny expires at my hand or my husband's, the point is--no one cares about either my blog or how clean my house is, except me. And my husband, who is convinced that I should be worried about how clean the house is because it's my job (or so he says) to take care of it. It should matter to me, he thinks, because someone important might drop in and demand my hospitality at any moment. Which is ludicrous.

I don't know anyone important.

But let's say I did. Let's say my someone important was, like, the Pope. Because...well, he's pretty important. Here is a picture of what Bill probably imagines he'd do when he popped into our home:

The dust bunnies. The dust bunnnnnnnniiiies! O-di!

Serves him right, in my opinion. Who pops into anyone's house without calling ahead? That's just bad manners. And if you're going to pop in, you get what you deserve.

This makes me realize something else: There are two types of people in the world--those who think someone important, like the Pope, is going to drop in any minute (and therefore, the fate of the universe depends on the state of dust bunnies in one's home) OR those who really don't give two toots about the state of the dust bunnies (but who can, in a pinch, conquer them without a lot of fanfare and holler.)

So this leads me to another realization: There is a third type of person in the world: my neighbor, Steve, who hoards things to sell at yard sales and flea markets, and who doesn't care who pops in because he loves his boxes and piles of crap. Personally, I think the Pope and anyone else would probably clutch their throats in horror at what they might find in a house like Steve's, whether they called ahead of time or not.

Here is a photo of something Steve couldn't sell at either a flea market or a yard sale, so he left it out on the curb for whoever might want it. (Probably not the Pope):

Please pick up after your futon.

Personally, on the great scale of clean, I'm the zero. Rather, the norm. You know, because I clean when I need to, and don't clean when I'm doing something else--like writing. Or, in this case, blogging.

I'm not sure where Steve lies on Great Scale of Clean. It's possible he fell off of it, completely. At any rate, welcome to my blog. It's messy. But at least, it's never boring. Not that it matters--because no one will visit anyway. Not even the Pope.

Oy-vay.