I went to my apartment after several days' absence due to the extremely inclement weather to find a note from my building manager: "Maria, give me a call with your phone number so I can give you a heads up when I'm going to show your apartment."
Shit. They're going to show my apartment.
What a prospective tenant might not want to see is the windowsills black with dirt (makes you feel good about the air you breathe, huh?), the nasty kitchen floor, the sink full of dirty dishes, the hair all over the bathroom floor and in the bathroom sink, the huge pile of stuff I need to sell or donate etc., etc., etc.
So yesterday, armed with a Swiffer and a sponge and a lot of 409, I set to work on the deep clean. I wiped down windowsills, and wiped them down again. I scrubbed the splatters of food on the side of my fridge and on the walls of my kitchen. I washed dishes. I abandoned the Swiffer and got down on my hands and knees to scrub the kitchen and bathroom floors. I vacuumed all the rugs. I took out trash and more trash and recycling and more recycling. I wondered how long you can keep a bottle of Bailey's before it curdles. Nearly two years of cleaning neglect, with some tasks even the full four, was slowly vanquished.
As I scrubbed, I couldn't help thinking about how great my apartment is. It really has a lot of cabinet space for a studio, including a tall cabinet for things like mops and brooms. It's bright and sunny and the ceilings are high enough to make it feel bigger than it is, but I even managed to get four bookcases, a couch, a bed, a TV, a CD case, and a whole lot of other stuff in without it feeling like the whole thing was going to cave in on itself. I never had a ton of people over, but I had great nights sitting out on the porch or on one of the balconies drinking wine with girlfriends and watching the people go by, even the occasional small dinner affair or movie night. I got dressed up fancy for nights on the town. I walked to First Ave and the 7th Street Entry and the Minneapolis farmers' market and Uptown and downtown and all around. I ran to and through the Sculpture Garden. I was just three blocks from Music & Movies in Loring Park in the summertime. I've laughed and cried and been terrified and angry and everything in between in it. It's the only place that's ever been all mine, just mine. It's been my home and solace through thick and thin for almost four years.
I hope the new tenant appreciates it like I have. I just wish I'd kept it this clean while I actually lived there.