Gaw. I hate cleaning my room. I guess if I would clean up after myself day to day instead of letting shit pile up it wouldn't be such a painful process. A shirt here, how'd my underwear end up there, a pair of pants I've been looking for all week. It's an on going thing. But I've come to terms with my inner slob. And I happen to like her. She's really quite interesting, and I soon learned how much she likes to hold onto things. Little pieces of memories of a trip here, or a party there. Or the occasional, where the fuck did that come from?I've been lazy. I finally emptied out my suitcase from my trip to LA. That's been well over a month ago. What can I say, I had better things to do? My suitcase is finally not a floor hazard and my box of magazines are safely back in my closet. I'm not sure how many people I've tried to kill with that. And my little computer haven is no longer dusty. All is good...for now. I'm wondering how long it will actually stay clean this time. I can already say, not long.
But the one thing I did learn is that while listening to the Black Eyed Peas I did clean faster. And was dancing quite a bit. I'm sure the Bickners could feel my groove and were very jealous. They only wish they had these moves.
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