I was only looking for a pair of sunglasses in the hall closet. But they could not be found. Nothing to do but empty the closet.
Which implicated the bedroom closet, which also had to be completely hollowed. And the file cabinets. And somehow the desk drawers, and the bureau. At which point I seemingly lost consciousness and began sorting through each book and magazine. And box. And the rolling containers under the bed. And with no more claims to sanity, I marched about with various vacuum extensions trailing behind me, hair becoming increasingly massive, wrangling everything in sight into increasingly complex algorithm of piles, bags, and boxes.
This is how cleaning goes. The Cleaning Demon possesses me, and with his awful spirit writhing in my veins, I froth and moan and move about at a speed seven times a normal mortal. Until some hours later, I look up dazedly, pulling dust from my hair, and realize I need a drink of water. Then the demon departs, leaving me with a clean apartment and sore back.
In this case the satisfaction is not quite complete, as the attack culminated in photographing stacks of books, art supplies, and other sundry items. Which I posted under “free stuff” on craigslist at 1 a.m., with ridiculously verbose descriptions. Then I rested, but with the knowledge this affair will not end until the unreliable masses of craigslist come to drag away the remains. Many could say their delirious Saturday night was more fun, but few can say it was more effective.