I’m pretty messy. I still have hopes that if I ever become a proper adult I will keep a tidy home. My intentions to be neat are there, but it seems like things get out of hand so quickly; by the end of every week my apartment looks like the set of the Lost pilot.
|Has anyone seen my phone charger?|
When I get home at night, the call of my bed is so strong that I can’t resist throwing off all my clothes and hopping right in. And then there’s the dishwasher; it’s right next to the sink. Logically, I know I should put my dishes in the dishwasher if I want my place to look clean. Ye,t my dishes take the Local and always get off at the sink.
At work my desk is a chaotic mess of papers. I can eventually find whatever it is I need, but it’s not the most ascetically pleasing desk in the room. This assistant really needs an assistant. Anyone? On one of the shows I worked on, the production coordinator (a role reserved for those with organization skills bordering on OCD) used to straighten up my desk every night after I left. If she hadn’t eventually told me she was doing that, I would have never known. I would come to work every morning, thinking that this was how I left the place the night before. The Secret was working–if I thought neat, I would be neat!
The biggest disaster resulting from my messiness was The Chair. Back in college, my roommate S* and I had one of those bucket chairs. It was wide, deep and great for throwing tons and tons of clothes on it. The Chair piled up faster than cars on the 101 at 5PM on Friday (a little traffic humor for you as my full Angeleno conversion takes place). I had borrowed a skirt from my friend A* and when I went to look for it so that I could return it to her, the skirt was MIA. When you’re messy, you just assume you misplaced whatever it is that is missing. I tore through every item on The Chair without any luck. In a last ditch effort, S* and I checked the second room in the dorm, where our third roommate J* lived. It was there that we discovered J* was helping herself to everything we owned–make-up, jewelry and tons of chair-clothing. She even had the audacity to have a framed photo of herself on her desk, wearing one of my tops! Let’s just say S* and I got our revenge. But we’ll save that story for another day.
*Abbreviated to protect the innocent. Actually, in that case, my klepto-mate was named Jenna Green.