I spent half the day today trying to clean my room. I got to the stage (you know the one) where you’ve spread everything out to the point that your floor is but a distant memory, the stage we all know and dread but agree is a necessary hurdle, the messier-than-when-you-started stage. And there, at the very edge of catharsis, I gave up.
The result: not only is my room NOT CLEAN, every inch of floor, desk, sofa, and bed have been claimed by an awe-inspiring amount of crap. A few highlights are listed below.
- countless heaps of unwearable clothing that appear to be breeding even as I sit here.
- five stupidly huge, empty boxes I vaguely thought would come in handy someday.
- nine empty wine bottles lined up along the radiator because, let’s face it,
the rubbish bin in the kitchen is just too damned far away.
- one precariously teetering pile of unbelievably thick, outdated computer manuals.
- not one, not two, but THREE non-functioning antique typewriters ordered off eBay
last winter in a drunken moment of what I thought was clarity. (“How did I not see
this before? It’s SO SIMPLE. What I NEED is a collection of ANTIQUE
TYPEWRITERS. Then everything else will just FALL into place.”)
- many many mysterious nests of tangled wires strategically located in every corner
of the room that don’t seem to LEAD to anything (cue creepy horror music).
- books, books, books, more books, and just as many DVDs.
Uuuuuggggggh.
As I type this, I am sitting on an unopened pack of computer paper that found its way onto my chair during the brief burst of “cleaning.” It’s not very comfortable. I briefly considered moving it before I sat down, but changed my mind when I realized that at this juncture, releasing a pack of paper into the wild (aka. the rest of my room) might just tip the balance towards pure chaos and cause the spontaneous creation of a Useless Junk Wormhole, ultimately destroying the universe as we know it (or, at the very least, my sanity).
Also, my feet are cold.
I promise the next post will be less whiny. It’s just been one of those days, you know?
Filed under: piss&moan | Leave a Comment
No Responses Yet to “why does everything i do turn into a depressingly accurate metaphor for my life?”