The last time I moved out of one house into another was fifteen years ago, but with moving kids to college and into and out of apartments over the past six years, my moving muscles are fairly supple. There was a stretch of my adult life where I moved every year or two. I’m sorely tempted to revert back to my super-efficient cleaning routine from those years–vacuum upon arrival; vacuum upon departure.  Life was so simple then–gross–but simple.

Now it’s frenetic and gross. I’d think about getting a vacuum robot, but I’d fear for its life. Those aren’t dust bunnies under that bed–they are dust Grizzly bears or dust King Kongs–or at the very least clues to the sort of creatures who live here.

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