Mr. Clean

Let's face it: I'm a slob.  Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I am.  I won't make excuses like I did about my temper.  At least there it lends itself to an explanation that holds up rather well under scientific scrutiny.  I used to delude myself into thinking that I was merely sloppy, not dirty.  Even now, I think that was the case for a while.  But the fact that a good portion of the medical community familiar with my case is convinced that my last apartment almost killed me makes me realize that while living there, I ratcheted up my slovenliness to a whole new level.
I didn't leave dirty dishes lying around, but the place was definitely dusty.  And while I tried to keep the birdcages reasonably clean, I was quite lazy about Oscar's.  It was huge and he was incredibly messy, often throwing his food around just for the hell of it.  So not only was there caked-on poop and dust and dander on the bars and in between the crevices of his cage, there were sunflower seed and pistachio nut shells (he loved pistachios) and feathers and general bird schmutz all over the place.  It was a studio apartment, so his room was my room, and I wound up breathing all that stuff in. I fed him fresh fruit every day (he was particularly fond of pomegranates), and by the end of the day there were little bits of fruit flung around as well.  What's more, during the summer that attracted fruit flies.  I researched online how to get rid of them when you have a bird; none of the alleged solutions I found worked.  Then things really got out of hand.  Did you know that the insect world boasts a critter known as a "birdseed moth"?  Well, neither did I.  Apparently this particular pest lays its eggs in the birdseed and those eggs often get packed with the seed when it's being commercially processed.  Then when they're in your apartment, they hatch, and you're absolutely inundated with tiny little white moths.  There are traps specifically made for birdseed moths, using their pheromones to ensnare their little footsies in industrial strength glue.  While these traps do work, they very rarely keep up with the amount of moth progeny flitting about your domicile.  So now, let's review: my place was a veritable cornucopia of dirt, dust, dander, feathers, and bugs.  Is it any wonder it almost did me in??  To a man, every doctor who treated me told me not to go back there.  Ever!  Not even to pack!  The handful of times I absolutely had to be there (like when I showed the place to my mover), I wore a surgical mask.  So here I am in a brand spanking new apartment.  In keeping with my new policy of self-improvement (and also because I prefer to go on breathing...I'm funny that way), I've changed my evil ways, baby.  Perhaps this is all the result of my having spent five months in the presence of my sister, a person who can spot a cake crumb under a table at a hundred yards.  She is OCD about so many things (e.g. all the ingredients of her chulent* must be put in the pot in exactly the right order or the world as we know it will cease to exist) that she makes Howard Hughes look like a germ-laden vagrant.  Oh, and the ants!  In the warmer months her kitchen is invaded by tiny little ants.  Chayie literally can't sleep if there's one miniscule creepy crawly left on her counter.  I've never seen a house cleaner than Chayie's.  I think one of us must have been adopted.  Anyway, I'm much, much better at keeping my residence reasonably inhabitable.  I make it a point to put things back where they belong after I'm finished with them (what a concept!), something I've never done before.  I'm dusting and sweeping and...ugh...vacuuming.  And guess what?  I've been here about two months, haven't had a cleaning lady, and the place is pretty much spotless.  Can I keep it up?  Who knows.  I will tell you this, though: there's definitely something to be said for living in a place where I can breathe deeply without having to worry about a moth flying up my nose.

* Chulent = a traditional stew-like Sabbath dish made with beans, meat
and sometimes barley and/or potatoes, depending on the recipe.