“Rage Cleaning”

Rage Cleaning: When Your Vacuum Becomes a Weapon of Mass Destruction

You know that feeling when life throws you one too many curveballs, and suddenly, you find yourself gripping a mop like it’s a lightsaber, and you’re the last Jedi standing between order and complete household chaos? That, my friends, is rage cleaning. It’s not just tidying up—it’s  full-scale domestic warfare against dust, clutter, and every single item that dares to be out of place.

It starts innocently enough. Maybe your boss, sensing your looming retirement or part-time status, sent one too many passive-aggressive emails with last-minute demands and sudden ‘urgent’ projects that mysteriously never existed before, or your husband left a trail of coffee cups, and mysterious ‘I’ll get to it later’ items scattered across the house. Before you know it, you’re furiously scrubbing the stove like you’re trying to erase all of  life’s regrets. Or muttering under your breath about how your husband seems to believe the kitchen counter is the trash bin’s waiting room, where garbage patiently lingers before making its final journey to the actual bin. 

Rage cleaning has stages. First, there’s the “Why am I the only one who cares about this mess?” phase, where you stomp from room to room, picking up items with increasing frustration. Then, there’s the “I guess I’ll just do it myself” phase, where you become a one-person cleaning army, vacuuming like you’re trying to suck up all of your problems. And finally, the “If I have to look at this clutter one more second, it’s all going in the trash” phase—where even innocent objects start looking guilty.

The best part? Rage cleaning is oddly productive. You could be stewing in frustration, or you could have a gleaming kitchen counter that smells like lavender-scented victory. Who needs therapy when you have a broom and an overwhelming sense of injustice?

Some people go for a run to clear their heads. Others meditate. Me? I wage war on durst & grime.. There’s something deeply satisfying about aggressively wiping down the fridge while muttering about the injustices of the world. It’s like a workout, but instead of abs, you get an immaculate kitchen. Plus, nothing says “I am totally fine” like reorganizing the spice cabinet at 11 p.m. with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.

So next time you feel your blood pressure rising, skip the argument and grab a sponge. By the time you’re done rage cleaning, your home will be spotless, your nerves will be slightly less frazzled, and your vacuum may or may not have battle scars.

Have you ever found yourself rage cleaning? Tell me your most epic cleaning meltdown—bonus points if it involved yelling at inanimate objects.

2/7/25