My Dream

Tonight, instead of doing my pyramid-piles of homework, I decided to clean the bathroom. And that should tell you something about the pleasure level of this reading, because our bathroom hasn't been cleaned--I mean really cleaned, not just lightly dusted or major spills wiped up--in anywhere from three to six months.

Months.

Needless to say, Bathroom Clean '06 was both protracted and pretty fucking disgusting. I'm also a little worried my housemates and I are all aging rapidly in reverse, since we seem to be losing pubic hair at the rate of a bushel a day.

Oh man. That image was almost too gross even for me.

Anyway, the point is that the bathroom's done, all sparkly, and I get to shower in it first. Hurray! No more paint chips embedded in the feet when walking between tub and toilet, no more mysterious sticky spots, no more beard hairs clogging the sink and drifting with malevolent purpose toward my toothbrush, no more wooly dust blanketing every surface like gray, senile snow. All because I had a dream, a dream that one day my four little housemates would live in a world where they would not be judged by the creepy-filth of their bathroom, but by the content of their characters.

I had a dream.