"Tidy Freaks Me Out!"

I've become accustomed to having random crap all over my apartment. Books on the floor, plastic bags in a big pile for no reason, receipts from 2001 cluttering up my desk - all became a normal occurrence. I walk funny in the middle of the night because I'm afraid of stepping on a book and breaking my neck while wearing plaid. I don't use certain furniture because it's always full of crap, so it develops into what I like to call "modern art".

There's never been a time when my room wasn't messy either. My Nana once bought me a certificate that said "World's Messiest Room". At Brock, I'm sure I had piles of random books that sat in one spot on the floor for entire semesters. (I'm not sure why I think the floor is a good spot for books, yet I still do it. "Maybe one day I'll have an urge to just lie on the floor and read!" Yeah. They should have a short bus for people who are tidy-inept.)

A couple days ago, I tripped over a book and fell onto my bed. I fell face-first in a non-painful way and just lied there for a long time, laughing into my comforter. The same day, my landlady told me there was someone coming to look at the apartment the next day. I told myself, "Jam, this is a sign," and went on a cleaning frenzy.

Now, my apartment is too clean. There is nothing on the floor, so when I woke up last night to get a glass of milk, my walking funny made me trip on all the extra air. "Who put all that air there?" I thought. "I'll have to put some clutter there in the morning." I glance around and it's all so empty, like I need to paint the carpet. Maybe if I put a lamp in the middle of that room, it won't look so empty? Maybe if...

So, I'm now trying to shut myself up and live in the clean apartment. "Be normal," I keep telling myself. "Clean people are happy people!" I'm not sure if that's really true, but hell, it's going to be true for me, or proudly laugh at the world into my bed covers I will!

--Jam