Dirty floor philosophy

I live under a very specific curse. The curse of people who are not at all aware of what they either drop or step on. They go through their days doing things in the house (most ominously, baking cookies) and drop things. Bits of flour. Errand sugar. Or they eat at the table and drop food. And they don't know they've dropped anything. This amazes me. How can you not know you've just dropped half a forkful of noodles?

I don't get it. The dog, on the other hand, is very happy to help the people in this family not be any more aware of anything. He loves forkfuls of noodles on the floor. But it drives me absolutely bonkers.

And then - get this - the same people who are not aware of what they drop are also not AT ALL noticing the stuff they step on. So when I ask indignantly why nobody ever feels like cleaning those floors, they all have this puzzled look on their faces. "What do you mean, is it dirty?"

Here's the problem: I am the only one who's bothered by this, and also the only one who can clean in a way that visibly removes, you know, dirt and such. The others are happy in their blissful lack of awareness. And while I try to talk myself out of moving out to a clean box somewhere, I realize this: You cannot make people aware of what they have no intention of seeing.

Why writers write

I like the idea of fairy dust all over my work