A Bachelor's (or Bachelorette's) Nightmare

[Note: I'm blogging this page from my POV, so I'm not doing the 'he/she' thing; suffice it to say this can apply to virtually all singles, regardless of gender...]
Worst Nightmare: 'Cleaning', in general!

Yup. I mean simply cleaning--I'm not talking about sanitizing--cleaning just about anything seems 'way out there' on the old PRIORITY list. I personally do as little as humanly possible, and utilize the liberal meaning of 'clean'. That is, a bachelor must take for granted that there are levels of 'clean', even using the term lightly. No, I'm not really a slob, and I truly enjoy being in a clean and organized living space, but--C'mon! Just about anything non-cleaning-related takes precedence on any given to-do list, even if its a 'cleaning' list. It's simply a fact of bachelor life. Besides, everyone knows that cleaning is a redundant act which simply provides no satisfaction or reward--its just gonna get dirty again, anyway. 


Given the priority dimension of just about any cleaning exercise, what really motivates one to actually do the deed? The simple answer: perceived social mores, and shame, AKA 'guilt-cleaning' (GC). Yes, admit it; only external forces disturb us enough to initiate the complex* act of cleaning. One cleans because one is expected to do so. Family, friends, and others who might visit would simply be appalled to discover the state of one's abode as it would be in a fantasy world in which there were no expectations of any semblance of 'clean'. Yeah, in that perfect world <sigh>, the concept itself would be nebulous, at best. Given the reality in this particular dimension, however, one must perform GC.


The trick to minimizing GC is to alter the perceived (and actual) expectations of potential visitors, via a process of habituation, and training visitors on the real definition of 'clean'. Over time, and with gradual exposure, your 'everyday' guests will come to understand your definition of clean, and won't be horrified by the layers of dust and dog hairs that occupy every inch of your living space--wont even notice that huge pile of unwashed dishes overflowing both sinks. This means you can gradually let things 'go to shit', as a training device. Another method is verbal desensitization. This one can do to alter expectations before the potential victim--ahem!--visitor even arrives. For example, in casual conversation, you might mention (repeatedly) that you only do laundry or dishes on a quarterly basis, cogently explaining that you either: A) have an excess of clothing/dishes,  B) rarely actually change clothes, and/or you mostly use paper and plastic dishes or C) some combination of A & B, or some other really deep wash of BS. If successful, such verbal desensitization will lower expectations and prevent (or decrease the severity of) undesirable reactions from the 'trained'. It also enables them to open up and admit their own slovenly leanings and shortcomings, thereby increasing rapport. As expectations decrease, look for trained visitors to become much more lax in their own GC behaviors; its a win-win.   


*It's not really that simple, however; just as there are levels of cleaning, there are levels of the NEED to clean, as modified by the GC phenomenon--a triage, so-to-speak. Very simple cleaning operations (VSCO), those which (if left unattended) would likely engender horrific reactions from you or (seemingly squeamish) visitors, and those which might incur financial liabilities are just done. For example, VSCO  are like a small spill, or a few crumbs that can easily be swished off the table (yes, onto the floor--get with the program, man!). Likewise, if vomit or excrement were to somehow get on your floor, one would be inclined to address it rapidly. With regard to the latter instance, say a large Kool-Aid spill on the carpet, one would do one's best to at least spot-clean to avoid renting a steam cleaner or paying damages to the landlord at move-out time. 


Another important dimension that modifies the perceived need to clean is visibility. I don't mean that in the strictest sense of being on a visual plane of perception, of course, although it can be applicable. For example, the old "if you can't see it, its not there' adage applies well to GC; removing clutter to obscure areas like under beds and into closets and cabinets works on all but the most nosey and live-ins. Anyways, who actually cleans out cabinets and the like? This technique is often learned at an early age, yet it remains effective into the geriatric stage. On the other hand, urine splashed up around the toilet is often invisible to the naked eye, until it becomes mixed up with dust and becomes apparent as droplets. It may also begin to reek. Similarly, the case of a decaying rodent stuck to your lame-ass glue trap--they begin to really stink after a few days. Thus, GC becomes compelling when the problem is apparent on either visual or olfactory dimensions; this goes back to the idea of different degrees, or levels, of 'clean'. Of course, these may be extreme exemplars--learn to apply the principles to nearly all so-called 'everyday' GC operations. Free yourself from the drudgery and the 'tyranny of the shoulds'!


While (nearly) all of the foregoing may sound pathetic, its veracity is well-supported by results gleaned from years of experience. If you are one who is encumbered by excess GC, I strongly suggest you put into effect your own training regimen, altering both your perceptions, as well as visitors'. Look around and gauge your own adherence to the 'norm' of 'clean'--and alter it for optimality. Not only will you conserve energy, but also you might find time for other, less-despised tasks. Keep repeating the mantra "its just gonna get dirty again, anyway", for best results.


Coming Soon: More of GT's Tips & Tricks for mitigating GC...