Saturday, April 3, 2010

The Bedroom Problem

I've been avoiding my bedroom for almost a month now. Just too busy or tired (weekdays) or happily tipsy (weekends) to clean after myself. Last night I was brave enough to take a really good look at it, and what I saw was not good news.

Behold, there. Here is the monstrous mess I'd been living in for the past month without even seeing. The portrait of a bedroom whose owner just doesn't care:

I dare not think what this means for my state of mind lately. But I've been happy, you know, in a I'm-in-love-with-my-boyfriend, constantly-sorrounded-by-friends, making-a-good-career, and even-lost-a-little-weight kind of way. In my book, happy goes with messy, apparently.
Faced with the monstrosity of my indifference, however, I had to take action and start sorting through the mess.

Before the operation:

Handful of dust on my desk. The items on it, which belong mostly to the beauty-skincare-fragrance range, testify to the sad story of my beloved thesis.

Clothes are left on the exact spot where I take them off. Except the heap on the armchair, which happened last week when walking among the tights and the bras and the skirts on the floor was no longer possible.

It is out of the question to sit on my lovely burgundy armchair - which still bears the marks of my lovely cat Lucille, who one day decided to jump off the window in a spirit of carpe diem, and died.

The operation lasted a whole afternoon. I dusted, vacuumed, put away the winter clothes, and even washed the carpet. God knows how long it will take to dry in this rainy weather.

At least right now everything is in its right place and I can sit down to enjoy Coetzee, my beloved, with a cup of lukewarm coffee.


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