In most ways, I am sort of a neat freak. I don’t handle dirtiness or disorganization very well and generally prefer the spaces in which I spend any significant amount of time to be nice and tidy. Ride in the car with me and I doubt you’ll find much more than a speck of dust or a bit of dirt tracked in by my shoe, which I’ll quickly vacuum up on my twice-weekly trip to the car wash. Even spaces that are naturally more chaotic than others (such as my coffee table at home or my desk in my office) have a method to their madness, and everything has a designated spot and a reason for being there. This is what my office currently looks like—it’s about as messy as you’ll ever see my desk, except during grading time:
But there are other areas in my life in which I’m not so great at staying neat and tidy. It’s just that I’ve compartmentalized those spaces. For example, I have to reconcile my obsessive neatness with my hoarder streak. I seem to have a deep fear of throwing paper away, and I also have a tendency to keep the boxes from what I deem to be “major” purchases (they’re not usually that major). My apartment is highly organized, for the most part—everything that I hoard just gets shoved into my walk-in storage closet, which has not been very “walk-in” as of late.
There’s also the fact that I have a cat, and I’ve nearly given up trying to keep the hair off of the furniture and the litter off of the floor. The stretch of carpet leading from the litter box (in my bedroom) into the living room is what I call “Litter Highway” because Zoe prefers to bolt out of the litter box when she’s done.
And then there’s dusting, my old nemesis. I’ve never been good about dusting.
Cleaning out my storage closet, vacuuming the floors (especially Litter Highway), and dusting everything in the apartment tend to happen once in a blue moon, all on the same day. I sometimes compare the lead-up to this big cleaning day to vomiting. You’ll often know in advance that you’re going to vomit. You’ll try to resist, but you’ll know that it’s coming, and you’re going to have to do it. Then, finally, you give in and just let it happen. That’s how cleaning is for me.
Today was one of those days. I got up in the morning, walked across Litter Highway, and knew it was time. I spent the better part of the morning doing all of the cleaning that I despise, starting with the most loathed: the dusting. Then, I vacuumed, sending Zoe under the bed and causing her not to speak to me the rest of the day. Finally, it came time to tidy up the storage closet, the one spot in my apartment that exists solely so I can keep the rest of the apartment neat. I found three empty shoeboxes from the last three times I bought shoes (I don’t buy shoes that often). For some reason, I kept the boxes from my coffee grinder, my electric razor, and Zoe’s fountain. What I thought I was going to need all of these boxes for, your guess is as good as mine. There were bags of SWAG from the last Netroots Nation and a variety of other events, none of which I will ever, ever use. I kept a piece of Zoe’s old cat tower that broke. Why??? When I was “done” (in quotes because I’m never done—there are still things in the storage closet that I don’t need but can’t quite bear to part with yet), this was the result:
It took three trips to the dumpster. I can finally sort of walk into the closet. For now.
How much of a neat freak are you? What else do you want to kibitz about tonight?