Not too long ago I was forced into a housing situation that, under normal circumstances, would not have occurred. My grandmother was over 90 and needed nursing home care after being virtually impervious to age up to that point. After the initial shock wore off, I was volunteered to live in her house & to keep it up in case she became well enough to come home.
She never left the nursing home & died sixteen months later. Meanwhile, I lived there for a year, and every time I had visitors, they complimented me on how great the house looked. I would just shrug my shoulders. My grandmother was an impeccable housekeeper - one of those houses where you were afraid to touch or move anything because it would look so out of place.
Eventually, the shrugged shoulders were replaced with appreciation. It hadn't been that long ago since I was a bonafide pack-rat; never throwing anything out, and leaving everything out in the open. I was a typical teenage slob whose untidiness extended into my 20s. Through running a household, I gained an appreciation for uncluttered surroundings and began to take pride in always cleaning. It was partially due to my grandmother's influence, but I also began to mature and be responsible.
Now my former "gift" for untidiness passes onto my roommate, who is nearly 40 and still can't clean up after himself. The roles have changed; now I am the "parental figure" always complaining, and he has my former role of not doing anything about it.
Three days after a massive cleaning of the front of our current house, what did I come home to today? Chicken pieces from KFC two days ago, used silverware, cigarette pack wrappers, DVDs all over the place, and ashtrays filled to overflowing, really giving the house a musty smell (he smokes like two smokestacks put together).
I wonder how much longer I have to pick up after a grown adult. Truth be told, he's dragged me down to where I no longer use the energy to be as spotless as a few years ago. The pride I had gained has never left me, but is as covered over with mental muck as the carpets are with regular muck. If I yell at him, he'll do a five minute spurt, but that's about it.
Now I was still relatively young enough in my mid-20s to have it proven to me how much cleanliness means. This man is almost double that age, and I suppose bad habits don't even die at all once you hit a certain age.
I wish this was one habit from my past that I didn't figuratively pass on. Now I can adequately explain half the gray hairs on my father's head.
