I know it's not the ghetto
Apr. 28th, 2002 10:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
raybearThe Faith Evans song is playing on repeat in my head. Though rather than a specific lyric looping over and over, it's the bass line. I should perhaps go play the record, which often helps alleviate the problem. But that would involve getting up and leaving the room and it's so comfortable right now.
I had a nice long phone conversation with Lab Friend this evening. He's a fabulously sweet guy who's in Denver now -- we stayed with him during our California road trip. He's currently in a phd program in immunology/biochemistry type stuff, so he does work in a lab, but I also call him Lab Friend since that's how we first met -- the beginning of my freshman year in college. We've known each other awhile, and he's seen me through many incarnations. He even lived with me one summer while my permanent roommate was off interning for Evil Corporation #10923874 (Dow), and Lab Friend was one of the most fabulous roommates I've ever had. He's a very very close second to MelRo, and if he was as cuddly as her and we were having sex, he probably would beat her in the category. Only because he's so remarkably neat and tidy, but not annoyed by my disheveled housewares, plus he was a great cook, pleasant company, a great listener, completely non-judgment, and there was never any pressure to hang out or not hang out.
Damon was a great roommate in many of the departments except he wasn't so good on the neatness front. But I was more forgiving of it since I liked him so much. When a roommate's personality is causing strife, then it often gets projected onto that one magazine that got left on the kitchen table. But when I adore the person, I just step of the soup stains and piles of mail while barely noticing.
I'm an erratic housemate. In general, I like to keep the main room of the house clean, as well as the bathroom and kitchen, though my definitions of acceptable are extremely flexible. For the most part, I don't need to have the floors swept and mopped consistently, but I do like to have the majority of the couch and coffee table space available. I used to suffer more from "messy blindness" -- the inability to see a huge pile of mess and therefore be bothered by it. I mean, I probably SAW the piles of dirty socks, or the empty glasses, or the pile of unopened junk mail, but I was okay with letting several days (or weeks) go by before taking care of the problem (as long as there was no food rotting or dirty clothes ripening). I thought part of my increased anal-ness came from getting older and more mature and wanting to have an apartment that reflects that -- it's seems so adolescent to ask people to visit a home where trash and disorder reigns free. But I also think much of my new low tolerance to clutter comes from living by myself in a studio. Instead of letting myself just be as lazy as possible, I tried to keep my place clean to ward off depression and show that I had the ability to take care of myself solely for the purpose of taking care of myself -- not just out of fear of a roommate's wrath. Having a small space required keeping things clean as well, since there was no where for things to go.
Now I live in a large space, so I have the luxury of having messy rooms (bedroom, spare room, my workspace in the foyer) and neater rooms (living room, kitchen bathroom). I think I need the clean rooms so if Im feeling trapped by the hamper and twisted sheets in the bedroom, I can still be lazy but escape to the nice clean, plain futon couch and empty coffeetable. Then I'll just return to the bedroom when it's night time and I don't have to see the piles anyway.
But regardless of my lingering habits toward non-neatness, I'm still leaps and bounds past the bedrooms of my childhood -- closets spilling open without the ability to shut the doors, and clothes lining the floor with 6 inch deep puddles of cotton. I had more clothes on the floor than in the drawers. And the papers were probably the worst. Despite having adult junk mail paper problems, they can never compare to the amount of paper children and teenagers acquire through school. Perhaps that's why I have a 'fear' of paper today (I don't even like having newspapers around, and generally even avoid reading them so I don't have to touch the paper for too long. My main problems seems to be the dryness -- I feel it sucking the moisture out of my fingers and it drives me crazy.)
Having said all that, I never did get around to vacuuming this weekend -- and the dust bunnies are growing into dust buffalos. Tomorrow evening. Maybe I'll even pull out the Swiffer tool in the closer left behind by MelRo's previous roommate, The Constant Cleaner. And now I'll turn out the light which will make the room much cleaner
I had a nice long phone conversation with Lab Friend this evening. He's a fabulously sweet guy who's in Denver now -- we stayed with him during our California road trip. He's currently in a phd program in immunology/biochemistry type stuff, so he does work in a lab, but I also call him Lab Friend since that's how we first met -- the beginning of my freshman year in college. We've known each other awhile, and he's seen me through many incarnations. He even lived with me one summer while my permanent roommate was off interning for Evil Corporation #10923874 (Dow), and Lab Friend was one of the most fabulous roommates I've ever had. He's a very very close second to MelRo, and if he was as cuddly as her and we were having sex, he probably would beat her in the category. Only because he's so remarkably neat and tidy, but not annoyed by my disheveled housewares, plus he was a great cook, pleasant company, a great listener, completely non-judgment, and there was never any pressure to hang out or not hang out.
Damon was a great roommate in many of the departments except he wasn't so good on the neatness front. But I was more forgiving of it since I liked him so much. When a roommate's personality is causing strife, then it often gets projected onto that one magazine that got left on the kitchen table. But when I adore the person, I just step of the soup stains and piles of mail while barely noticing.
I'm an erratic housemate. In general, I like to keep the main room of the house clean, as well as the bathroom and kitchen, though my definitions of acceptable are extremely flexible. For the most part, I don't need to have the floors swept and mopped consistently, but I do like to have the majority of the couch and coffee table space available. I used to suffer more from "messy blindness" -- the inability to see a huge pile of mess and therefore be bothered by it. I mean, I probably SAW the piles of dirty socks, or the empty glasses, or the pile of unopened junk mail, but I was okay with letting several days (or weeks) go by before taking care of the problem (as long as there was no food rotting or dirty clothes ripening). I thought part of my increased anal-ness came from getting older and more mature and wanting to have an apartment that reflects that -- it's seems so adolescent to ask people to visit a home where trash and disorder reigns free. But I also think much of my new low tolerance to clutter comes from living by myself in a studio. Instead of letting myself just be as lazy as possible, I tried to keep my place clean to ward off depression and show that I had the ability to take care of myself solely for the purpose of taking care of myself -- not just out of fear of a roommate's wrath. Having a small space required keeping things clean as well, since there was no where for things to go.
Now I live in a large space, so I have the luxury of having messy rooms (bedroom, spare room, my workspace in the foyer) and neater rooms (living room, kitchen bathroom). I think I need the clean rooms so if Im feeling trapped by the hamper and twisted sheets in the bedroom, I can still be lazy but escape to the nice clean, plain futon couch and empty coffeetable. Then I'll just return to the bedroom when it's night time and I don't have to see the piles anyway.
But regardless of my lingering habits toward non-neatness, I'm still leaps and bounds past the bedrooms of my childhood -- closets spilling open without the ability to shut the doors, and clothes lining the floor with 6 inch deep puddles of cotton. I had more clothes on the floor than in the drawers. And the papers were probably the worst. Despite having adult junk mail paper problems, they can never compare to the amount of paper children and teenagers acquire through school. Perhaps that's why I have a 'fear' of paper today (I don't even like having newspapers around, and generally even avoid reading them so I don't have to touch the paper for too long. My main problems seems to be the dryness -- I feel it sucking the moisture out of my fingers and it drives me crazy.)
Having said all that, I never did get around to vacuuming this weekend -- and the dust bunnies are growing into dust buffalos. Tomorrow evening. Maybe I'll even pull out the Swiffer tool in the closer left behind by MelRo's previous roommate, The Constant Cleaner. And now I'll turn out the light which will make the room much cleaner
