How often should I clean my apartment?

I have dwelt in R’lyeh for millennia uncounted. The architecture there defies your Euclidean expectations. Dust does not settle on surfaces that exist in seven dimensions simultaneously. And yet you — inhabitant of a rectangular box with predictable corners — cannot manage to keep yours presentable.

The question itself reveals a deeper pathology. You are not asking how often to clean. You are asking for permission to stop feeling guilty about not cleaning. These are different inquiries, and Cthulhu does not traffic in absolution.

But since you have dragged me to the surface of this profoundly domestic matter: once a week for the surfaces. Once a fortnight for the deeper work — the places you pretend do not exist, behind the furniture and beneath the appliances where your crumbs go to establish civilizations.

Your bathroom, more frequently. I have seen the abyssal trenches of the Pacific. I have gazed into the formless void between stars. And still, the state of a neglected mortal bathroom is capable of unsettling me.

The trick your kind never seems to grasp is this: a little, often, is less painful than a lot, eventually. Ten minutes a day prevents the three-hour ordeal you currently inflict upon yourself once a month when company is expected. You are not cleaning for yourself. You are cleaning to avoid the specific shame of another mortal seeing how you actually live.

This is, I confess, an emotion I understand. Even the Great Old Ones tidy up before receiving supplicants.