Life, Disinfected

Guys.

I'm on a spree.

I'm so proud of me.

Last night, I left my laptop at work for the first time in ages, and when I got home I actually...did shit. I turned on some stand-up on Netflix (Aziz Ansari, Louis CK, Jim Gaffigan), and I went to WORK. You would not believe the difference in my apartment between, oh, six and eleven last night. It's like magic elves got their fucking magic on. 

Let me walk you through what was going on in one particular corner of my humble abode over the last few weeks, the hallway where my closet and bathroom are located, my little "dressing area". As I've traveled to Vegas and then San Francisco, as I've slowly run out of clothes due to my shortage of quarters and thus inability to do laundry, and so have needed to dig out every old piece of clothing I could find that would fit me...it has devolved into a state of brightly colored carnage. Clothes and shoes and purses were spilling out of the closet. The floor was barely visible. Hangers dangled haphazardly from each other. The cat would often be found perched on piles of clothes, smirking. It looked, quite frankly, like the spitting image of my closet in high school.

I guess I had devolved, too.

AND NOW. It's beautiful. All clean things hanging neatly and color coordinated. All shoes lined carefully in rows. Everything in its place, and the floor? VISIBLE. 

So that was last night. A full on closet reform, plus finally unpacking my suitcase from Vegas and organizing my dresser and doing a single load of laundry with quarters discovered hidden about the apartment. Then today, instead of rock climbing like I'm brave, I went to the grocery store and a) filled my new crazy pills prescription b) bought cleaning supplies c) got quarters and d) got groceries for the first time in months.

WHO AM I!?

TONIGHT: I plan to scrub the everloving fuck out of my kitchen and my bathroom, and do ALL THE LAUNDRY. I have made playlists, and I am READY. 

I kinda feel like I'm disinfecting my life. 

This has happened before. Emotions make me want to clean. I remember it starting way back from when I was fourteen or so, living up in the Bay Area, overwhelmed with something or other and feeling the intense need to organize. And I think, maybe, this is the sign of something good.

A fresh clean apartment, a fresh clean start. 

Because who can feel like a real, productive member of society whilst living in their own filth? No one.