I spent the vast majority of my day yesterday cleaning the apartment. I hadn’t done this kind of a cleaning since before classes started in the fall, which is just so embarrassing to admit, especially since I used to do it every single weekend. I didn’t wash my windows or scrub my walls or dust my baseboards or anything like that. This was just routine stuff… dusting, vacuuming, laundry (including sheets and towels and staggered in such a way that I even washed what I was wearing in the morning), kitchen and bathroom floors, kitchen in general, bathroom in general, and all around general tidying.

Pippin did not appreciate this activity. Not one bit. He spent the day under the bed.

As I worked I kept telling myself that this would be so much easier (and so much less gross) if I just did a little bit every day, or every weekend. When did I stop caring so much if the kitchen floor wasn’t swept every night, or if the folded laundry stayed piled on the dresser rather than tucked away into it? When did it become ok for dishes to sit in the sink waiting (of all things) until I put away the clean ones in the dishwasher and made room for the dirty ones? When did the bare minimum begin to pass for enough?

But just as I caught myself saying that 20 minutes every evening wouldn’t kill me I realized that it’s just not that important. Right now other things (like my new Japanese lessons, or my exciting-but-daunting new work projects) take pretty much all of my energy, and I’m ok with that. As long as this place doesn’t turn into a sty, I’m ok with a little dust. I’ll get to it when it absolutely needs it.

Of course, my problems would be solved if I hired somebody to do this kind of thing for me… but that’ll never happen.

Thin tooth enamel, or rather, the decalcification of that thin tooth enamel, landed me in the dentist’s chair this afternoon. But what should have been a quick appointment to drill just enough to create space for a filling to cover the decalcified areas turned into an hour-long ordeal. The first filling went in uneventfully in about 10 or 15 minutes. But for some reason, the novocain just didn’t want to deaden the area for the second filling. He’d tried numbing both areas at the beginning; then he tested the second area after placing the first filling only to find that it wasn’t numb. So he gave me a second shot. And then a third. And then a fourth.

Finally on the fourth time, the area went dead and he could proceed with the 15 minute procedure. I left the office at about 3:30 cursing my luck that the only part of the whole ordeal that I really and truly dislike, the only part that makes me shaky and palm-sweaty, is the part I had to endure FIVE TIMES.

Unfortunately, by this point I was pretty much pickled in novocain, and 6:30pm rolled around without any restoration of feeling. I couldn’t even feel my right ear. That’s when I realized I’d need a new plan to get some calories in me before going in to work from 7-10pm. Eating dinner, wasn’t going to be an option. A friend suggested a milk shake, so I figured out where the McDonald’s is located in town and drove there on my way to the office. What could be easier than driving through the drive-through, getting a shake, and getting to work? Nothing.

Well, first of all, it was still -13 Fahrenheit plus a hefty wind-chill (but I try never to look at the wind-chill because that’s just depressing), and my car window wouldn’t roll down. So I had to open my whole car door to place my order (giggling to myself that I was probably the only person buying a milk shake in -13 degree weather). Then I asked how small their “small” shake was, because it’s been a while since I ordered a drink at McDonald’s and I couldn’t remember if it’d actually be small or if it’d be more like a medium masquerading as a small. The gentleman on the other end of the speaker was very helpful.

“It’s the size of our smallest cup, unless you want the kid’s size,” he informed me.

“Yes, I understand that. I’m not familiar with the sizes, though, so do you know about how big it is?”

“It’s just, you know, a regular ‘small’ sized cup.”

“Fine… I’d like a small shake, please.”

It turned out to be about a 12oz size, which was what I’d wanted (and what I believe used to be a medium size, once upon a time). Of course, then I had to pull around, pay at one window, and collect my shake at the next window, all without the benefit of a car window that would roll down.

The gas station attached to the car wash in town closed a few months ago, so the salty residue that builds up on cars in the winter has been merrily building up on my car without fear of ending up sloshed down a drain. Without fear, that is, until yesterday. Yesterday I waited in line for nearly an hour to go through a car wash in a neighboring town and emerged sparkling clean.

Today, the temperature rose to nearly 50 degrees (Fahrenheit) after two weeks of hovering around zero. Then it rained. Beginning tomorrow, we’re set to head back down to the near-zero mark, and the air will be too cold to hold any moisture.