The Way I Live

Alex’s Confession Time.

I am super high maintenance about the state of the kitchen. I hate it to be dirty. I can’t sleep when I leave my dirty dishes downstairs (Mom, are you hearing this? Can someone drive to my mom’s house and pick her up off the floor? I think she just died). But it’s true. Something happens when it’s your own kitchen. You get freaky about it.

I did leave a couple of plates and plastic containers downstairs last night, and what do you know, I slept horribly. I also woke up in the middle of the night with “Not enough plates. Not enough plates. Not enough plates” running like a Ke$ha song through my head. I invited people over to watch the game, and the only thing my poor little brain can think about is not having enough plates. I sent Colin to go get paper plates today, just in case. This is how I live, people. Constant fear!

Not really. But when it comes to food/kitchen/hostessing, Colin will attest to how freaked out I get. I pre-plan menus, I think about table arrangements, I make things 24 hours ahead of time. Even when people are only coming over for pizza and beer. For real, I made the salad dressing last night because I worried about not having time to make it after work today. I have issues.

None of these weird personality disorders mesh with the reality that is my bedroom.

No, you are not getting pictures of my room. It’s too embarrassing. Please read on for your descriptive/imaginative needs.

Our bedroom is really big. It’s one of the things I like most about the house. It also has two really big windows. Gosh, I’m good at this descriptive stuff. Enthralled, aren’t you? When I woke up this morning, my side of the bed was covered – covered – in kleenex. I have been having some serious allergy attacks lately, and even though I did not even sniffle once during the night, I somehow pulled out at least 10 kleenex without actually using them, and tossed them around myself in my sleep. You just can’t control that amount of hotness. There were clothes scattered around my bed, hanging off the closet door and the computer chair. Dresser drawers were open to hold Colin’s headphones (because laying them down on the desk is too easy). Birthday cards were tossed across the dresser along with my tangled jewelry. Abandoned grocery lists were sitting next to the computer, along with spare change. Two half-empty water glasses sat on either side of the bed because I ate too many french fries and  will wake up with salt induced thirst throughout the night. Two big red bins are filled with laundry, although they are divided into lights and darks. Someone go pick up mom again, I divided laundry. She might have relapsed.

But that’s not even the worst of it.

MY BED IS ON THE FLOOR. Ugh, I am one of those people who’s mattress is on the floor because she is too lazy to find a bed frame. For real, Alex? Like, you can’t just invest in a damn bed frame?

No. And here’s why. I only have like, two and a half months left here. I feel like investing in a bed frame, while aesthetically pleasing, would be silly. I can’t bring it back with me (Volkswagon Golf = only the necessities). I also feel like being a bedroom bum somehow balances my obsessive compulsive nature in the kitchen. Like, people who are  awed at my kitchen organization/freakiness can just go look at my room and realize that the kitchen business is not representative of me. No matter what level of organization/cleanliness I might portray in the kitchen, I am SO not as crazy about my room. It is the ugly definition of a 22 year old’s first place on her own.

P.S. The walls are green. That might help you visualize. Green room, messy as all get out, bed on the floor. Got it?

 

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