I
think I have a monster in my bedroom. One that vomits dust. There is no other
explanation.
I spent the good part of
four hours, count them! FOUR HOURS just tidying my room yesterday. Not
rearranging furniture. Not redecorating. Just dusting. (And I only have the
box-room! That was dusted as it was rearranged a few months ago!)
I think I now have what the miners call 'Black Lung' (I'm not sure if that's a
true complaint, I saw it in Zoolander.)
It was more than the usual putting all the books back onto the shelves, or the
putting clothes away into actual drawers, and not, you know, in the usual place
A.K.A in the corner in a pile.
It was bed-pulling-up,
shoulder-injuring, good hard honest work.
I only say because I now think that since I rumbled this monster - we shall
call him Ned. Ned the Dust Puker - he is out to get me. If I don't blog in the
coming days, it is because he has dragged me to his Dusty Palace at the bottom
of the lint pile to be his queen.
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