Today I cleaned my room.
It was ugly, friends. It was scary and I didn’t know what I’d find under Shoe Mountain, or behind Old Magazine Canyon. But I did it. I put all my clothes back into the closets that threw them up in the first place. I dug through old clothes and old makeup and amassed a giant bag of “easier to throw away than clean up”. I found the gross little fake scars I wore to the Zombie Pub Crawl inside my running shoe (maybe I should start actually USING those shoes). I matched up shoes that were under the desk, on the desk, under the bed, and in my t-shirt drawer. Finally, I looked around at my room. I put my hands on my hips, and took in the splendor that was a spotless room. The bed was made. The dirty laundry was sorted out from the clean laundry - and then WASHED! I couldn’t believe what I had accomplished. I can’t wait to mess it up again…just to relive this cleansing high.
The truth is this. I hate cleaning my room, and there is no way that I am capable of KEEPING a room clean. I have too many clothes that I throw around like confetti, and end up in a tornado of Banana Republic and The Gap. I’m like the people on Hoarders. I can tiptoe through the piles of clothes, shoes, and empty boxes and then pluck a white tank top from the depths of a pile of crumpled up clothes I washed 2 weeks ago. It’s like a gift to find that needle in the haystack. I’m proud of it, sometimes.
I’ve been like this for my entire life. So, it’s not like I’m going to change any time soon. I just can’t keep my bedroom under control. When I was really young, and playing outside with my neighbor Claire, my mom would be all “Pharon! Stop eating those ants and come in and clean your room!” Lucky for me, I was a very manipulative little brat, and Claire had that lovely, easily-manipulated mind that so many kids have. Five minutes later, I’d be laying on my bed and directing Claire where to hang my Scotty dog sweater and denim overalls. I’d be like “Claire, the faster my room gets clean, the faster I can come over and play fashion show.” Unlike me, Claire was a phenomenal cleaner. She was efficient, and organized. She’s exactly that way today. In between commercials on a TV show, she’ll mop her kitchen floors. So, we all have our strengths. And cleaning? ‘Tis not my forte.
So tonight, I can bask in the cleany goodness that is my bedroom. I won’t trip on empty gift bags or twist my ankle on a round brush hiding under sweatpants. It’ll be nice, I guess. But how will I know what clothes I have to choose from unless they are all carefully thrown onto the floor?
Whatevs. I’m glad it’s over with. I don’t have to worry about cleaning it for another