Hard to admit this
I recently (ok, for me July is recently) cleaned up my place. Ok, it was cleaned up for me. Clutter was minimized, there was almost nothing on the floor that wasn't furniture, there was no food in the refrigerator that was inedible, the laundry was done, the books were almost all back to the library... it was clean.And I didn't like it. It looked wrong to me, looked sterile and completely without personality.
My house is never actually clean like my parents keep theirs. As a matter of fact, I've seen clutter-buster pics of places that are cleaner than I like to keep mine. I've seen a picture of the bedside of Son of Sam and while the caption said it was super cluttered I thought it also looked a bit clean to me.
It was just strange to realize that I'm not just by nature a lazy housekeeper, but that I actually prefer the categorized piles of stuff on the floor. I like the feel of a full room.
This is probably some wired psycho-whatever disease. But I'm not dirty. The trash gets taken out, the dishes get done, the food gets tossed... anything that is unclean is taken care of quickly. I just prefer clutter.
Huh.
I guess it's because a lot of my clutter involves things that I'm doing. It's a pile of books, a pile of half-finished scarves, a pile of DVDs I'm watching, a pile of WIPs I'm working on. I surround myself with items that distract me, I guess. And if there's nothing to distract me, I'm bored? That might be it.
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