I Have a Problem

I notice every speck of dust and dirt.

Everywhere.

I can't turn it off. I can't ignore it.

If it's in my view, I notice

and it bothers me.

Especially if it's in my own home.

In my house, there are two cats and two humans.

There are muddy shoes,

grains of cat litter scattered about,

crumbs from food,

ice cubes from the fridge melting into the floorboards,

strands of hair and fur stuck to furniture

and dust bunnies under every nook and cranny.

None of this is unusual.

That is what I tell myself so it maybe doesn't bother me as much.

But it does bother me.

The filth, no matter how small or insignificant,

no matter how much I scrub, vacuum or dust,

is always there.

In some capacity.

In some form.

While I find some solace in cleaning up the filth,

some sense of peace and quiet,

I know my cleaning will never result in

perfection.

No matter how much I try.

No matter how much effort I put in.

There is no such thing.

Even if it is unachievable,

I trick myself into believing

it is not.

Just one more wipe down.

One more dusting.

One more sweep.

And the place will be immaculate.

Not sure I will ever completely ditch that idea.

But it sure would be nice.