stuff! things! etc!
i once gave a kangeroo a heart attack by staring at it.

Electricity, Electricity!

I love cleaning! Let me rephrase: I enjoy living in a clean house, and I am moderately amused by cleaning because it gives me the opportunity to go through all the old crap that I refuse to throw out and generally enjoy bizarro memories or find little hidden treasures.

I've become a bit of a hoarder, although I've gotten better about even keeping stuff to begin with. I reorganized everything with the intention that someone might actually see this stuff one day. Though living in relative seclusion, as in, I never invite anyone over ever, it occurred to me that this might not always be the case especially with the prospect of mid-summer party throwing. And thus, I went through lots of stuff.

I began with the medicine cabinet. I don't think mine is particularly interesting. You will be able to gleam a fair amount about me, but nothing I'm not willing to volunteer. I wear contact lenses sometimes; I have allergies; I get cuts; I have scars; I take caffeine pills or illegally purchased ephedra when I'm having a long day and another pill to counteract them when I need to sleep; I have awful acid reflux that might be related to the previous items. These are not fun things.

Under the sink is far more fun and relatively more scandelous. I probably should not admit it but I tell everybody everything because it is in my nature. I keep all books I cannot display on my bookshelf, all disgarded Seasonale bags that I'm not sure what to do with, several logs and diaries and other keys to feminine life. It is all piled up next to the cleaning supplies, the bleach wipes and Windex threatening one day to melt or spill and invade the relevant things with their gooey chemicals. It is a war of attrition and it is mostly fought by way of paranoia in my head.

I am very concious about these things because I am CONSTANTLY going through other people's stuff. I really cannot help it. I used to be completely uninterested in the lives and trinkets of others until I saw Eileen going through my drawers in sixth grade and then I realized that it was probably going to end up being a relatively entertaining persuit. This mainly goes for girls; the boys that I hang out with usually stow away boring stuff like cables and not pictures or giggly underwear or trinkets or trophies. The stuff they do have also generally requires a lot more explanation and I like my discoveries to be quiet secrets shared between myself and the secret holder. Duh.

Anyway, back to me. I've gotten way better about throwing things out, though. Shoeboxes that used to pile up in the closet just waiting for an appropriate craft project have been immediately jettisoned. Dresses that I felt that I one day might have the opportunity to alter were thrown out after realizing the expense would far outweigh the benefits. My jewelry and perfumes have been neatly arranged so as to afford a modicum less stress when dressing myself.

It was only after I had spent several hours cleaning, polishing, throwing out and rearranging that I really sort of felt completely alone the way one might feel if suddenly floating by themselves in space. The well vacuumed rooms seem quieter, more solid and disapproving, as if even the dust had somehow provided some sort of unspoken comfort and friendship and now was gone.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just crazy. I've started taking vitamins every morning with a scoop of peanut butter until I remembered that this is how you give dogs pills and felt momentarily shamed and then went back to licking the spoon. It is Friday but might as well be Monday; another day in a series of days that seems to make only a small impact.

10:37 a.m. ::
prev :: next