8 months now in the apartment, without a vacuum cleaner. Other than the kitchen it's pretty wall-to-wall carpet.
Guessing by the color of my shed hair and belly-button lint, I'd guess it was grey, but the dark mouse colored patches along the wall and the centipedes brazenly marching across the living room floor were clues that maybe I should vacuum...
I have a vacuum, hidden away somewhere deep in a storage locker, I remember it, and on one of those rare weeks where the payments are current and the weather is nice I go and do a quick raid...I'll find it. Opening the door, the first thing to fall on me is the long-carpet-sweeper attachment...this has to be a good sign...
...but the world is full of false omens, and a more thorough search of the locker turns up no further trace...it could be anywhere, under a hundred boxes...I do manage to find an old spare tire, however, from the old Volvo, I had wondered what had become of it, now I know...it's here...
So I need to buy a vacuum, and I hit a few thrift shops, nearby, on my days off, eventually I find one, $20, working, and I set to work in a particularly difficult corner...it works a charm, a few passes with the furry attachment and I find the carpet, I really should have raked it first...
And so I clean, it seems a bit obsessive, I think to myself, but no-one looking at my apartment would find me obsessive, really, it's just my own prejudice, and it kind of feels good, like a hot bath or brushing your teeth, there's a zen-ness to cleanliness that I respect and admire, only I haven't the patience or training for it...
When I'm done I wonder if I should throw away the vacuum bag, or try and sell on ebay, easy 5 lbs of gold dust and diamond bits in that, remnants from the summer...