Thinking on the job

I finally got tired of seeing dust. You know the kind, the kind that screams at you when the sun shines in the window, swirls in the air and then smugly settles on every flat surface. You can use every cleaning device know to man and it returns, always.

See how ugly and grey it looks on this computer heat sink (not mine by the way, I stole the photo from Wikipedia).

GREY, now that's the thought that kept running through my head while attacking every piece of furniture and stationary object with cloth and Pledge. GREY.
I thought it again as I worked the vacuum from room to room. GREY

Insidious. Invasive. Detrimental to my health. Bad, bad, bad and not just because it forces me to work. Dust, and the need to clean it, could be the death of me.

I thought long and hard and finally I had an Eureka moment.

Dust is Alien. It is the work of an invading force that is trying to weaken the fabric my life. Bet they have piles and piles of it in Area 51. It came with THEM

THE GREYS