When we spend too much time trying to perfect things on a screen we can find that the word clean loses its definition. As will surprise no-one, my mother fore-saw this problem and all but insisted her maid become my employee; which allowed me to go on building my website.
But then I found that I was not feeling myself at all, which statement usually elicits exactly one response, which I attributed to the fact that I was intending to influence the thoughts of others. I'm not sure if all doctors must label a condition before treating it. My self-diagnosis led me to recollecting a previous time I had been attempting to influence others, but verbally. The recollection was of a grin by one who was sure I had been had when I found there was nothing more to influence people with.
But a maid must arrange the cleaning apparatus as most suits her. So that, while it means I have to tie my hair up with the thought still outstanding of people with long hair who don't have to think about it, which might mean hunting high and low for the means to do so, with the word organization still outstanding, I pick up that which was dubbed a flying spaghetti monster by silly nincompoops and their followers, because fixing the squeegee, which if I'm not mistaken was popularized by sitcoms which included alien actors pretending they were just like every other slacker, is a project which is now at least eighteen months on hold.
I only attempt it because of one uncle who at least tried to fix anything that broke or he received in that condition, and because my dad insisted that it couldn't be fixed. My uncle's experience at least allowed him to own the saying, some things must be forged anew; which begs the question, why are we making things with lightweight materials, which don't need to be light of weight, with materials that cannot be reforged?
And so I continue to use the device that was made obsolete with a cult that served the only purpose of making it obsolete, which has the only disadvantage of having to bend over in order to squeeze it (which is to recall that maids know instinctively how to bend over).
And I continue to think of janitors who, instead of attempting to assess whether something was clean or not, simply mopped the whole floor every single day. Whether he was offered a squeegee, whether he didn't want one, or whether no-one understood what he was saying so had to let the matter alone, he was not too bothered with whether or not the other employees and directors in the building could get from one room to another.
He didn't seem to be bothered with the word sinecure. I certainly wasn't: everyone who has graduated must be given a job, or the system fails.
But that problem was dealt with around the time people who could fix things and keep them running were told not to call themselves engineers. Funnily enough, some people who have a qualification that indicates they are the most appropriate person to run a business, cannot do so without the help of someone who knows how to fix things and keep them running.
But I'll come clean: these facts presented themself to me soon after I stopped not feeling myself, and received a grin for the look in my face. And then I thought, look at the happy life of a bachelor with no-one but the maid to help him out.
But I tend to be melodramatic upon looking at the worst-case scenarios. I mean, look at me now: thinking that it might just be possible that people are saying in their hearts that they love me, and sending messages via my mother.
But my melodramatic scenario-building fairies suggest another word, which is a conjunction which implies an exception: such as that to believe that one person has been totally blameless is taking things too far.
To add another paragraph starting with an exception-building conjunction would only be to bring the attention back to myself, so I won't.