Last month my old vacuum cleaner broke into two pieces. I was not sad. I had spent a lot of time taking the lazy thing apart, fixing it, and putting it back together. I admit that I am proud of the fact that I can essentially reduce a vacuum to it's component parts, correct whatever is wrong and put them all back together. I just don't want to have to do it often. Two or three times a week is far too often. I just don't have time. Off I went to Wal-mart to find a new one with a a skip in my step. They had a lovely fancy one on sale! (not the super fancy one you are thinking of, I just can't justify spending that much a vacuum cleaner.) I looked it up on my phone and read lots of positive reviews. Hooray. I purchased it and took it home, my heart already speeding up in anticipation of the task to come. I love to vacuum. Love. It. In college, if my roommates came home to find me furiously vacuuming the apartment, they knew that something had upset me greatly. A vacuum will always take a little bit of chaos and bring it into order. Maybe I couldn't control the rest of the world, but I could bring order to the carpet. I vacuum in straight lines, like my Dad taught me and just seeing the vacuum marks in my carpet brings a little peace to my soul. You can see why the incompetent one made me insane. My new vacuum was amazing from the first time I used it. I couldn't believe what the old one had been leaving behind. And the lines, oh the lines, that vacuum leaves behind. They last for days if I let them. Every time I empty the dirt cup I feel as though I am getting rid of some of the angst in my tummy. So today, I am grateful for my brand new, shiny vacuum cleaner.