Ghost-Faced Cleanah
Recently, I completed two major team projects at work that had previously taken up a huge chunk of my time, causing me to work late evenings, weekends, and the regularly scheduled Friday off in my usual 9/80 schedule (thank you, government). Finally removed from the stress bubble that had previously enveloped my entire existence, I was able to step back and see my apartment (and life) for what it had really become: a huge garbage pile. I consistently joke that my apartment regularly looks as though a depressed person has trashed it for weeks (that depressed person being me), but the situation had seriously reached a critical point. Like, it had reached a point at which, were I to die unexpectedly in said garbage pile, Ghost Me would be mortified that others would be able to witness such levels of utter filth. I would haunt this world forever, never having reached my human goal of having a beautiful living space. If such a situation were to pass, as discussed and promised, my local best friend and ½ of the Computer Girls, K, would arrive at my apartment prior to authorities to tidy up a bit. I mean, what are friends for, right? But even though this is the deal we have struck, the apartment mess level had reached such a breaking point, that I literally imagined K, sobbing, dragging my body to a clean corner of the apartment, but also periodically stopping here and there to gag, completely grossed out. I mean, enough is enough. It had surpassed even best friend level tolerance.
Thus ensued the Deep Clean of Spring 2016. I cleaned the shit out of that apartment and returned it to its former minimalist, scented candled, Mid-Century aesthetic glory. Regularly seeing the floor of your bedroom is a beautiful thing, I tell you what. I am filled with clichéd Spring rejuvenation. Apartment haven is risen. Sometimes you have to take care of yourself and your living situation with the same care and dedication of that of a devastated best friend, cleaning your scene of death. It’s the cleanliness you and your West Elm items deserve, girl. Amen.














