I am very disorganized. I’m not a hoarder; I’m just too lazy to throw things away. Or arrange them in an orderly fashion. It’s horrible because I have to clean up for the exterminator guy’s visit on Wednesday (I don’t have bugs but apparently it’s something the landlord does on an annual basis? Why I’m just now discovering this, I don’t know. It kind of creeps me out.)
I don’t lose things because I have a mental map of where things are, and I put important things in one area away from everything else. But it is overwhelming. Not third-degree squalor, but maybe one degree. My living room’s floor is strewn in potting soil, kitty litter dust, junk mail, little bottles of paint, baby food jars and their lids, styrofoam packaging, stacks of newspapers, leaves from my ficus, and tin cans. My couches are covered in cat hair, coats, craft supplies, stacks of mail, and potting soil. How such a little room could be jammed packed with stuff, I have no idea. The sad thing is that if it weren’t for the exterminator, I’d be fine with letting it stay like this.
My mother said she wanted to come visit me this summer and I told her I would have to come down and visit her. My house is way too messy to play hostess of the mostess. Because of the lack of central air conditioning, I can only summon up the strength to clean during the wee hours of the morning. I wouldn’t have time to do all that I would have to do to meet her standards of cleanliness.
I wish I were more organized and less blasé about things like potting soil and paint being everywhere, in everything. It’s like I don’t notice how bad things are until I’m literally falling down the stairs. I do like how nice the rooms look when I do get them cleaned up, but then I go back to letting my roommate Entropy have his way.
The only solution I can think of, in addition to working harder on improving myself in this area, is keeping myself to one room and not doing anything in the other rooms that would disturb them. Kind of like cordoning them off with an imaginary velvet rope, like they’re period rooms in a museum. After work, I could just go directly to my bedroom. But then I’d have paint all in my bed like I had during the winter, when the draftiness of my living room made working in there awful. I have a queen size mattress but it’s almost like I have a twin because the other half is dominated by bottles of paint, blocks of clay, pieces of cardboard, dirty dishes, and piles of clothes. But at least there’s no potting soil in here.
I feel lost and stupid. I need some advice to keep from being in this situation again.