Our flat is like something from 'Life of Grime' or 'How Clean is Your House'.
I'm sitting up cos my body clock is all out of whack, and listening to mice ploughing their way through the crap behind the sofa and monkeygrinder's desk. We haven't ever seen evidence of mice eating the food in the kitchen, cos there's so much crap left around that they don't need to hunt it down.
The living room is strewn with newspapers, important bits of post, junk mail and clothes and stuff. There's a box of reading books that has been there since i left my old work last summer, and another box of sundry crap which got left after unpacking various boxes when we moved here over a year ago. On top of that is a huge telly (long story) and an empty cardboard box and coats and cycling stuff and a boardgame and all kinds of shit. There are piles of dishes and takeaway cartons on the floor and bookshelves.
Every inch of the kitchen surfaces are covered with empty recyclables and dirty dishes.
the bathroom is full of used clothes and has loads of dust in all the corners.
The bedroom looks like an explosion in a jumble sale - with strategically placed boxes of paperwork from last summer's exam marking job.
there are about ten galsses and beakers in there, full of mouldering dregs of drinks.
I'm writing this to shame myself.
But i've always been like this. How the fuck do I change? Monkeygrinder is the same. We just don't see the mess until it becomes a really huge job that seems depressing to do. Actually, grinder was tidier in his house share - but his room was this bad.
I swear at the moment it would be a three-day full time job. And who wants to spend three days doing that shit? I should, I know.

And it would just get awful again.
We keep saying "well, if we do [manageable unit of time] every [regular interval], we can get it looking ok" but we always give up once there's a manageable number of clean plates or the recycling has been put out.
Not sure what i want from urban here. a personality transplant?