The Rites of Spring (Cleaning)

Ah, spring! The season of rebirth, renewal, and reckoning with the filth you swore wasn’t that bad three months ago. As the sun shines a little brighter and the birds chirp a little louder, so too does the dust, which has spent the winter hibernating under your couch, forming a small but thriving ecosystem that may soon apply for government recognition.

Spring cleaning is an ancient tradition, dating back to when cave dwellers first realized that last season’s mammoth bones were starting to attract wolves. Today, the ritual persists, but with more existential dread and fewer saber-toothed tigers.

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The first sign that it’s time to clean is a creeping sense of doom whenever you enter your home.

That pile of unopened mail? A small but mighty fortress of unpaid bills and jury duty summons.

The closet? A black hole containing three broken umbrellas, one roller skate, an unopened package of glow sticks, a scarf you stole from a bar in 2015, and a pair of jeans that you’re convinced you’ll fit into again once your metabolism “calms down”.

The pantry? A graveyard of canned goods, including an expired can of cream of mushroom soup with a promotion to win Milli Vanilli tickets.

You tell yourself it’s just a little mess, but deep down, you know the truth: you live in squalor, and it’s time to act before the health department does.

Inspired by a potent combination of guilt and HGTV, you declare, “This is the year I get my life together!” like a contestant on a home makeover show who doesn’t yet realize they will, in fact, cry on camera.

So, you invest in an alarming quantity of storage bins, convinced that organization is merely a Tupperware shortage away. You begin pulling everything out of drawers and closets with the reckless abandon of a raccoon on a sugar high.

Unfortunately, this is also the point at which your stamina gives out, leaving you knee-deep in belongings and regret. What started as “tidying up” has escalated into a full-blown archaeological dig, complete with artifacts from past lives: a friendship bracelet from summer camp, a collection of phone chargers for devices that no longer exist, and – oh look! – your dignity, right where you left it.

Halfway through, you hit the inevitable wall of despair. The Marie Kondo method promised that decluttering would spark joy, but all it has sparked is resentment and lower back pain. Every item you pick up presents a moral dilemma:
• Throw it away? But what if you need this broken blender one day, or at the very least, its parts?
• Donate it? To whom? Who on earth wants a life-size cardboard cutout of Danny DeVito?
• Keep it? The whole point was to get rid of this stuff, not relocate it to a slightly different pile!

You briefly consider setting the whole house on fire and starting fresh while Googling “insurance fraud laws” just to weigh your options. You settle for ordering takeout instead.

At some point, you accept that perfection is for people who aren’t you. The closet is still a disaster, but now it’s a neater disaster.

The junk drawer remains a mystery box of expired coupons and mysterious keys, but it closes properly, which counts as progress.

You stare at your semi-clean home, proud yet exhausted.

And just as you sit down, victorious, you notice it: a single dust bunny, lurking in the corner, smirking at you like it has seen your browser history and knows all your secrets. You consider vacuuming it, but something in its eyes warns you not to.

You sigh, close the blinds, and pretend you didn’t see it. Spring cleaning is over. Let the cycle of chaos begin anew.