At first, you blamed the rain.
The driveway looked darker. Wetter. A little… smudged?
“It’s just rained,” you told yourself.
Then it didn’t rain for three weeks, and it still looked like that.
Interesting.
You stared at it longer than usual the other day. It stared back. Something about it felt stickier. The patterns in the concrete told stories now—stories about oil spills, time, and that one dropped takeaway you never fully cleaned up. You started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it needed more than a quick rinse with the garden hose.
You muttered the words driveway cleaning yorkshire. Quietly. As if saying them too loud would commit you to doing something about it.
And then there’s the patio.
You loved that patio once. You had plans. Even bought furniture for it. Remember that? Now it’s a slippery rectangle of regret. You keep telling people it’s “rustic.” You say things like, “I kind of like the moss.” But you don’t. No one does.
Sometimes you step outside, stare at it, and think about patio cleaning yorkshire.
Then you go back inside and check the fridge. Again.
Meanwhile, something is happening above you.
Something quiet.
Something green.
The roof used to be simple. Tidy. Now it’s got texture. Texture that wasn’t there before. You’ve convinced yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself all roofs grow things. “It’s just nature,” you say. You’ve been saying that for six months.
You’ve started avoiding eye contact with the upstairs windows.
Too close to the truth.
Roof cleaning yorkshire could solve it. But that would mean climbing the metaphorical ladder of responsibility. That sounds hard. So you do nothing.
But the roof waits.
And then one night, you find yourself scrolling. Mindlessly.
You end up watching a pressure washing video.
You don’t mean to. But there it is.
Someone’s driveway. Covered in grime.
Then—whoosh. A perfect, clean line appears.
You feel something deep within your soul unlock.
You keep watching.
You watch another.
And another.
Now it’s 2:43 a.m. and you’re whispering:
Pressure washing yorkshire.
Yes. That’s the answer.
But you don’t click anything.
Of course not.
You tell yourself you’ll do it next week. When it’s warmer. When it’s drier. When you feel like a person who gets things done.
And yet, the driveway is still grimy. The patio is still slick. The roof is now developing what may be a personality.
One day, you’ll act.
Probably.
Maybe.
Hopefully.
Until then, your house continues to wear the slow, mossy evidence of your hesitation.
And it wears it well.
