So I cleaned my room today. I feel like a teenager saying that, but then again I pretty much live in my own filth like a teenager, so touché, self.
I started because I felt better today. I’m pretty sure it’s way too early to know if the meds are working, or for them to work at all, but I’m attributing my good mood to them anyway. I felt good and I got shit done and it’s been a long time since anything like that happened.
I continued because I kept finding change and was out of cigarettes. I found 8cents more than I needed. That’s like a one in a million chance — usually I’m short by a miniscule amount, but too proud to ask anyone for 5fuckingpennies.
My room is small. Really small. I took the smallest room in the house to give Poppa and Holden more room. But I share mine with Jack, so it doesn’t make much sense. We have a queen bed, two dressers, two small plastic white 3-drawered things (we just call them our ‘white things’), and a little cabinet thing (I know, I’m really bad at explaining) where our TV sits.
My dresser runs parallel to the bed. To my side of the bed, specifically. So I end up throwing all my shit on the floor in between the dresser and bed. And it piles up and up and up until it’s nearly level with the bed. My dog loves it because she always has somewhere comfy and close to lie. My son loves it because he finds treasure and is pretty much immune from falling off the bed. I love it because I know all my stuff is there somewhere, even if I can’t find it. Jack hates it. With a passion. And he doesn’t hesitate to let me know every single day just how much he hates it and how horrible I am for never cleaning it.
Don’t worry, it wasn’t his badgering that finally made me break. I had virtually no clean clothes left (none that fit, anyway), so I started simply shoving items of clothing into a bag. Then that rattled some other shit around and knocked everything loose and I realized just how grimy it was down there, so I got to it.
My legendary pile of mess consisted of:
- 7 Journals
- 9 Spiralbound notebooks
- 3 Composition notebooks
- 17 Books
- 2 Bibles
- 2 College books
- 4 Overdue library books
- 8 pens
- 1 Pillow
- 2 Bags of trash
- 4 Bags of laundry
- 1 Pair of Yoda slippers
- 2 Pairs of furry slipper-boots (boot-slippers?)
- 1 Pair of sneakers
- 1 Pair of fur winter boots
- 2 Purses
- 3 Wallets
- 1 Belt
- 5 Water bottles
- 10 Toys
- [Unknown amount] Miscellaneous knickknacks.
These are the contents of my life. According to this stuff I guess I seem pretty normal. A book-nerd, but that’s alluring now, right?
I’m actually okay with my life being summed up by only those things. My artsy stuff wasn’t included, but I like writing more anyway. And if we had the balls to delve deeper, into every book title and every journal design and what was written in those journals, the crazies would come out and it would all make sense again.
I told Poppa to have “Books, Trash, Clothes, Toys” engraved on my tombstone.
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Do you have your own pile of mess? What does yours consist of? If you don’t, what four things epitomize you? What four words/items should be on your tombstone? Let me know!