My Sterility Is an Exercise In Futility

I've heard about people who have insect problems in their houses.  I always figured it was safely in the realm of people who would appear on "Hoarders" or someone who lived in a hovel.  Urban living is educating me otherwise.  You all have met me.  You know I keep a clean (some would say obsessively clean) house.  It's even more so here since I've retained my OCD only now I apply it to less than a third of the square footage.  I don't have food laying about, I sweep crumbs up immediately, and there aren't piles of clothing strewn around.  And yet, the parade of insect life is non-stop.  I know that there are roaches in here somewhere, I just rarely see one.  It's always dead.  The ants come out of the drain of my kitchen sink- the logistics are really mystifying on that one.  I'm not really sure how they accomplish that at all.  There are always flies buzzing about.  I'm stymied- it's the 33rd floor of a high rise, for Pete's sake!  How are all of these things staying alive in my clean house?  On a side note- this pollution is something else.  I dust 2 or 3 times a week (we're talking a full wipe down of the kitchen cabinets and everything) and my rags are always gray.  My floors are almost always dirty.  On another side note- after my run yesterday when I blew my nose my snot came out black. (I think I should get bonus miles for breathing in secondhand smoke the whole time I run.)

So don't worry...I have plenty to keep me busy. I'm probably going to have emphysema or lung cancer from all the cleaning supplies and air pollution when I come home, but at least I'm filling the hours in the day.