We just moved, yet again, and I just finished cleaning the old apartment. I now remember (as though I ever really forget) why I hate cleaning so much. I become completely obsessed with it. Every little spot must go. Even though I know they are going to paint before the next tenants come in, I was compelled to wipe down the walls in my son's old room because apparently he had to prove ownership every time he entered the room by marking the door and walls with his hands. Oh, and did I mention using scissors to snip out tiny blobs of grease on his carpet? All mothers of skateboarding sons, beware! Invest in an area rug for your sons' rooms. Changing the trucks is messy work!
Anyway, I spent the entire day cleaning, and honestly could have spent another couple of hours on it. Very, very strange, the change that comes over me when I'm cleaning. I'm totally invested in it. I don't think about writing. There's no plotting, day dreaming, nothing but cleaning, and planning what to clean next. I clean things that I don't even think are on the list of things they want cleaned before you leave, and that's a pretty comprehensive list. It was a long, ugly job, and I know it would have gone smoother if I was more inclined to clean that way regularly, but I'd really rather name the dust bunnies than vacuum them up. Besides, it's so much easier cleaning an empty apartment.
The only other time I become that obsessed with anything is when I'm writing, but even that isn't as single-minded. Good thing I only get like that when we're moving--on average once every two years--or I'd have no time for anything else!