I am happiest when my apartment isn’t just clean; it’s resplendent.  Drinking glasses are turned over in a uniform band behind closed cabinet doors.  The dishwasher is empty.  The pillows on my bed are plump and dent-free.  My sheets are crisp and pulled taught.  Lemon polished wood and Murphy’s Oil Soap. White bars of soap in my drawers.  I have fresh grapefruit juice in the fridge.  The swish of the privacy curtains near the tiffany vase with flowers brought just for me.

Right now, my apartment looks like picnic grounds and smells of urine.  It’s no wonder I can’t sleep.