This isn’t MY room, of course. This is a mere pipe dream.
I have this thing.
If any of the main areas in which I spend time are untidy, it puts me a little… off. My mind just ticks over, slightly ill-at-ease. Its as though my mind knows there’s mess somewhere I’ll have to be soon and it just won’t chill the f*ck out. The areas? They are;
My desk at work
My car I clean on a weekly basis. I’m not precious about it – in fact my car is known to smell eternally like McDonalds and I always seem to have at least one sweet and sour sauce loitering in the glove box just in case. My car is also a place many people get in and out of. My various passengers regularly eat pastries, drink wine, flake off nail polish etc. and I never get stressed because I know the weekend is coming and it’ll be clean once again.
The one thing I DO have an issue with is the FAMILY OF MANSIZE BIRDLIKE SKY CREATURES who seem to follow me around, daring me to spend €15 and a lot of upper body strength manually washing and polishing my car only to have a prolonged period of CHRONIC DIARRHOEA on it as soon as I step away from the thing. To those god forsaken birds I say this; I’m buying a pellet gun.
My desk. Well. I would be known for having one of the tidier desks in the company.
On print day, every second Thursday, there tends to be a small build up of stuff on there; press releases, various beauty products, the odd half-empty can of whatever caffeinated drink I binged on that week. It’s not quite Crap Mountain (as another colleague of mine has christened her desk) but it’s untidy. Then comes Friday afternoon, and I take great joy in ploughing through the crap, binning and filing, organizing and tidying, and mentally decluttering the remnants of the fortnight that remain on my desk. Clean work environment = more efficient magazining. (that’s not a word – ever heard of poetic bloggers license?!)
Ah, my bedroom. It’s generally clean (no dust, hoovered etc) it’s tidy sometimes (when it’s not, I’ve always got intentions of tidying soon) but until today it wasn’t decluttered. I have a secret wardrobe shame.
There are three doors on my wardrobe. Behind two, my clothes, shoes, gym gear, handbags and pajamas all live in semi-harmony, squashed but workable. Behind the third door? CRAP. Actual, full-on, not-even-mine-to-get-rid-of CRAP. Books, cassette tapes (I KNOW RIGHT), videos, random cables, bits of fabric, ribbons, picture frames. STUFF in other words. Things that my mad hoarding family deemed keep-worthy, against the odds and all logic.
Today I had enough. To be honest, the only way I could sleep knowing that all that lay just a door’s opening away was to ignore it completely. But then I ran out of space (I think I mean that more in a mental sense than in a physical sense) and so I cleared it.
Honest to goodness, the mental relief you get when decluttering somewhere like that is immense. If it wasn’t for the fact that now I’ve to face the task of sorting through ten years of magazine collecting and select keepers, I’d be looking forward to a lovely night’s sleep…
Someone wise on Twitter told me that, in true Feng Shui style, clearing out old crap makes room for lovely new things in your life. I hope my secret wardrobe of shame now becomes home to some lovely new stuff, and the little space I’ve cleared in my brain gets filled with air (it needs a rest) and then maybe good thoughts.
Until I update you all about the magazine clearing, here are several pictures of SOME of my collection… Good lord.