My room is a mess.
I know. Boring, right?
Lately I have been drawing a lot of parallels between my attitude towards my room and my attitude towards life. Not to say that my life is a mess, but a lot is up in the air right now. I could do something about it, but every time I start I get distracted.
Or bored. Or intimidated.
Let me throw some crazy at you. Are you ready?
I think that part of me wants my room to be a mess.
Let it sink in.
Let me clarify: part of me wants to let my room be a mess. I wish I could wave a magic wand and have it all be better and put away and spotless. But I can’t.
This is the best way I can explain it. You know those days when you are sick but you have to go to school/work anyway? And instead of doing your daily routine of showering and putting on make-up, you throw your hair in a bun and wear sweats to class, even though that’s not really something you do? (Just kidding, I always throw my hair in a bun.)
But seriously, why do I do that? It’s because I want the fact that I feel like crap to show. Actually, I usually let my room become ridiculous when I’m sick, but that’s not the point. I want there to be some sort of physical manifestation that something is not right.
Well, fine. If I want to be moody and leave my room a mess because I feel like a mess, who cares right?
Well, today my roommate casually mentioned that some girls toured our apartment to rent it next year. I found myself looking at my room through a stranger’s eyes. Or worse, not a stranger.
Today is the day, my friends. It’s time to clean up. As soon as I finish this cup of coffee.