Ramblings: MESS-interpreted

To everyone who knows me, I'm a neat-freak. I freak out when everything's clean and tidy. Last year, I had a panic attack when I came home from college, to find that my brother and mum had cleaned up my room. If my brother hadn't dumped the contents of my bag all over the room at that very moment, it would have taken alot more than xanax and breathing exercises to calm me down. And we never have xanax. Anti-anxiety drugs never last more than a day in our house. We use them for all sorts of stuff. they're used as a self-declared cure-all, they've been used as sleeping pills, even as drain openers (works best on anxiety-ridden drains), and on some occasions as tranquilizers (for the noisy feline couple that's taken a liking to my dad's mint patch in our backyard. One time, I swear I saw those cats grinning at a dandelion for two hours straight. Xanax is a happy drug after all).

I've always believed a messy environment has greater positives than a clean one. At least for me. It's less complicated. I know exactly where everything is- in that evergrowing pile on my carpet. I don't have to worry about making a mess while looking for stuff, because I'll be digging through one that's already there! A place for everything and everything in its place. That's what mum used to say.

I've also started to treat my mess as a person. NOT because I saw it move around when it thought I was asleep. NOT because it yelled, "Ow!" when I stepped on it the other day. NOT because it sheds a few of my things in the living room, on its visits to the fridge, and then I have to explain to mum how they got there. I treat it as a person because it told me to. It also threatened to eat my brother if I didn't do a post about it. You have to understand, I really need my brother. He's the only alarm clock that can wake me up.

-NH

http://www.shawndecker.com

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