One reason you should probably call before coming to visit me is that I might be vacuuming, in which case (a) I wouldn't be able to hear your approach, and (2) I probably wouldn't be using my company manners (or my polite language). I haven't mentioned lately how much I hate housework. I really, really hate it.
Sometimes it must be done, though, if only to remind me how much I hate it and why I put it off for so long at a time. (And, of course, to get it done.) Today seemed to be a good day for it. It seemed like a good idea at the time, anyway. I didn't do my "A" job, or even my "B" job. I'd give myself a C+, without marking down for language and attitude. That comes with the territory.
There are in fact many things that I enjoy more than housework that I also never seem to have enough time for. Fortunately, I made time for some of those today as well. At the top of that list is reading. Lately whenever I try to find a few minutes to sit and read, my eyes get tired before I get very far, and it turns into naptime instead.
Not that that's an entirely bad thing, mind you. Naps are good in their own way, and I'd take one every day if I could. Maybe all day every day, as far as that goes. But later on after a nap, when I'm more rested and refreshed, it's often grown too dark to read by natural light. I never have figured out how to adjust the lighting in this house so that I can comfortably read by lamplight.
So instead of trying to do too many things today, I made time to read and run the vacuum. That seemed to be a full enough agenda for one Sunday, especially after such a busy Saturday. I definitely needed a nap after all that work.
But the point is, the evil housework is done. At least, as much of it as I thought absolutely necessary is done, for a while. There's still clutter, but there will always be clutter. I can't escape clutter. Something inside prevents me from clearing clutter and keeping flat surfaces free of it.
If there's an anti-filing gene, I have it, either by inheritance or mutation. I can't be sure, because I don't remember how much clutter there was in the house when I was growing up. It doesn't seem to have been a problem, at least to me as a child.
It's not a problem now, either; I simply don't care, unless someone is coming to visit. In which case, they are advised to phone first.