Why being a clean freak is bad for your health.

I do like to clean. (Wait I think I've mentioned this before...)

However sometimes I know that it's either not worth cleaning, or I just really can't be bothered. That's the paradox you see. Clean freak but also lazy girl.

With having the visitors for the past week I really couldn't be bothered to clean, I couldn't be doing with fighting a losing battle with their fur. Which. was. everywhere. How do they do it?! They're not even long-haired cats!

Anyway...

I left the flat to get dirtier than I would like which has an unfortunate side effect. I become irrationally angry about the fact that the flat isn't clean whilst at the same time knowing that there's no point in cleaning it.

This tends to boil over into what can only be described as rage. Pointless rage.

So last night I decided it was time to clean and channel my rage productively. Normally this works well, it gives you a little rocket up your backside and you can get in the cleaning zone. However this time it ended in severe calamity.

I turned my cleaning rage to the hoover. I pulled the cord out of it somewhat vigorously shall we say and in doing so I smacked my finger somewhat vigorously in to the door frame.

I'm not going to tell you what came out of my mouth but I didn't know a nice girl like me knew language like that.

The rage probably doubled in ferocity at this point and I went on a hoovering rampage to end all rampages. There's not a cat hair left in this place (there are probably still a billion of mine lying about however, I probably moult more than them) and it was only when my cleaning whirlwind was over that I realised that my finger still really hurt.

Like really hurt.

And that's why my finger now looks like this....

What you can't quite see in the photo is the rather marvellous shade of purple it has now turned.

Oh and did I mention I'm left-handed?

I don't think it's broken but either way they can't do anything can they so I now have it taped to my middle finger which is making typing pretty hilarious. Although if I'm honest it's not quite as hard as I was hoping it would be. Still I can still swing the lead a little bit I reckon.

Lessons learnt? Don't clean when angry.

Also.

Mind the doorframe.

(PS The boyfriend was in charge of the ironing at the time of my cleaning frenzy, he wasn't just letting me do it by myself. And he did sit with me all evening while I complained about how much it hurt. And he took the photo without really understanding why I wanted it taking.)