The vacuum cleaner isn't much better. I track in all this dirt, use a machine to clean it up, then clean out the machine so I can take the dirt back outside again. It's as though daily life is the tide, and we're determinedly trying to beat it back with a stick.
"Sooner or later," it seems to say, "That floor is going to be a filthy. You can clean it, but it's gonna be dirty again soon. Oh yeah, go ahead and do the dishes too, I got more dirty ones coming. There's a glass on the other side of the couch that you don't even know about-used to have milk in it too."
But it's oddly comforting. Clutter on a desk tells you that work has been done there, a dish in the sink that food has been eaten. All of them are marks of a thinking mind, one that can cobble together disparate artifacts into a single thread, without needing them arranged just so. A mess tells you that life is nearby, strict order always comes off sterile.
Does seem inefficient though.*
*Let's start with the bathroom. I'm gonna need a whole bunch of plastic wrap and a couple of pressure washers.