A: Don’t take this the wrong way, but messes are absolutely my thing. What can I say? That’s my element. My mess reflects me.
When I say mess, though, I don’t mean apple cores and year old pizza hiding in a corner with smelly socks and other absolutely disgusting things. That’s what I like to call BOY mess (though I don’t discriminate. Girls can absolutely have that kind of mess, too. I’ve seen it.). My mess is more of a cluttered confusion of books, papers, purses, shoes, a potato smasher (I don’t know how that got into my room. But it’s there.), NON-smelly socks, etc.
Some people, to relax, like to read.
Others have music.
And some like to-shudder-clean. If you are one of THOSE people, we cannot be friends. (Unless you’re willing to do my chores for me…In which case you’re forgiven.)
Me, I unwind best in a mess. I sleep better with my clothes strewn about on a chair. (of course I’ll pick them up…eventually.) I concentrate more easily if I have pillows and blankets piled clumsily around me. I prefer having my shoes in a pile in front of my bed. That’s just how I think.
But, of course, my room isn’t a COMPLETE mess or anything. Half of it is my sister’s side. And she’s about the cleanest and most organized person you’d ever meet. So…if you were to enter my room, you would encounter one spotless, pretty-looking, organized half, the half you entered through-we did that strategically-and one chaotic display of books, stuffed animals, crumpled up paper, and clothing.
My sister hates my messiness. She’s constantly harping me about it, and with good reason. I don’t seem to listen. I grudgingly clean it every 3 weeks or so on my mom’s command, and it takes about a week for it to get back to its original state. I swear, it’s not on purpose. It just…happens. But, ya know, I’m in no hurry to fix it. As I’ve said, my mess is my element. I relax there. I get some of my best writing done in that mess. Should I really change that?