Too Dispirited By Ubiquitous Dust

We’re living our lives in a cloud of dust, as the rain stays away,

living next to an air force base seems to increase the blanket of

dust immeasurably and I can’t breathe, dusty dog blankets and

dirty rags in soapy water outside, I’m all for living dust-free - but

right now I’m a clone of Wall-E before the sun energised him, I’m

too dispirited by ubiquitous dust to wash these dirty things - yet

 

There’s no escape, talk about existential crisis; if only Sartre knew

about domestic concerns, he would have committed hara-kiri before

writing ‘L'enfer, c'est les autres’, but I can see he really knew where

the problem was since he also claimed ‘L'enfer c'est moi’ because

nobody else complains about the dust as much as I do & Ionesco

would have made his Frenchman who used to drink a lot in his play

 

Rhinoceros, complain in more absurd terms about dust clouds in his

head, both authors would have succumbed to existential complaints

about housekeeping impossibilities if they had been forced to clean

for themselves - literature history would have been different if these

clever gents were forced to face domestic problems on a daily basis!

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I have washed & rinsed the dog blankets, cleaned the bathrooms

& now the kitchen & I’m dying of heat already - after some tea I’m

going to jump into pool’s icy water to cool my burning head & give

me courage to tackle the duties of a CharLady working full-speed