Dirty, Dirty, Dirty

I have dishpan hands at the age of 19. There is a good chance they are pruned permanently for the rest of my life because of dirty sink water. Why, you ask? Well it all started way back when during a time when my head came only barely above counter-level. Helping my mom cook and clean, I admired her ability to whip up a spotless, orderly house in a matter of an hour or so. Now here I am at my first apartment and I wake up from a nightmares of dirty laundry strangling me and a living room covered in clutter knee deep. I open my eyes and reluctantly stutter into the kitchen this morning to get a bowl of cereal. To my surprise (or not) there are no bowls left. I look over my shoulder to see the dishes forming their own great wall of China, all laughing at me and mocking my disheveled nightmare-hair. I proceed to then spend one hour cleaning the kitchen. I deal with the dishes, the overflowing trash, and the over all explosion of open food containers. I spent fifteen minutes alone sweeping up kitty litter thats all over the floor (I'll get to that later!). Then I spend one hour in the living room picking up other peoples messes, before making it to the bedroom to then lay down from exhaustion. Something tells me I don't want to be a stay-at-home mother after all....