I just cleaned my room. I purged it. I stuck my mammoth monkey hands, up it's anus, & pulled out all the goop. I was amazed by what I found. Something new. I've never seen my room so cleaned, yet so full. Virtually, everything has a place. A memory. A use.
I used to prefer cleaning other people's messes, than my own. Than my room, mainly. I think I've realized why. I woke up today, looked at the clean pile of clothes I've had for days. I just sat there. Wondered why it's taken me three days to make a dent into it. It's not because I can't do it. It's the exact opposite. It's because it's so easy. It's something that won't take long. It's something that just isn't important, then. Well thats how my mind viewed it.
No. That's not why. It's because it was easy. But not because it was a waste of time. I'm scared. What's gonna be left, when I clean it. Like. What do I do next. I panicked. I just had the most intense 15 second, mid-life crisis, in history. It all makes sense now.
This is, one of the reasons, why I didn't apply myself in school. It's scary. It's either gonna be too difficult or too hard. And if it's too easy, what do I fucking do? That's why it's taken over a year forme to finish my GED. I've aced all my tests. I know I can. But, what do I do after? What do I get, other than a pat on the back. Regular university is NOT for me.
I'm almost done with my room, & I'm stuck. What the Hell do I do!? I have nothing to work on. Nothing to fix.
My room is only disgusting, when I'm going through a mood swing. It reflects my mood, completely. But, on a regular basis, I guess I just subconsciously let the clothes build. I pity my fucking self, & I didn't even know it. Cleaning up, I found a dollar in a pair of pants. I left it, intentionally.
Am I my own fucking mother?
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