This weekend I cleaned my house. Not cleaning like dusting and vacuuming (I do that every weekend) but cleaning like dusting, vacuuming, ironing, taking apart the fan in the living room and running the glass globes through the dishwasher, along with the glass globes from the dining room light fixture and all the glass globes throughout the house that I could reach (with help of the ladder of course).
Cleaned every nook that had a spider web. Cleaned the oven and the drawer at the bottom of the drawer (which was quite gross... I don't think I've ever cleaned that). Another thing that was quite gross was the cover over the fluorescent light in the kitchen - talk about greasy! Not to mention laundry, mopping and sweeping outside.
I guess because seeing the nice clean floors and shiny surfaces throughout the house (brighter house, may I add) wasn't enough, I spent this afternoon cleaning out the cabinets underneath the bathrooms (why do we collect so many bottles? I found an empty rubbing alcohol bottle at one point).
Just like pulling weeds, I find cleaning almost therapeutic. Back-hurting, labor intensive cleaning. Yesterday I cleaned with music blaring and I sang along. Today I cleaned in silence. Call me strange - I'm OK with that.