Cleanliness is My Happiness

Last night, I was unable to fall asleep, and to kill time, I began cleaning my room. For those of you who don't know, I painted my room in January, and up until recently, had not finished putting my room back together. My bookshelves were bare and their contents in boxes. My floor was littered with clothes - evidence of my daily morning rush. Basically, it was just a mess.

I began by picking up and hanging up my clothes, which then led to the reorganizing of my closet - according to color and type of garment. And since I was already in my closet (I have a small walk in closet), this led to the reorganizing of my shoes according to type of shoe. After I was done cleaning my closet, I looked at my dresser. Now, my dresser is forever cluttered, and rarely can i see the top of it, because by the time I get home every night, I'm so exhausted, that all of my jewelry and the contents of my pockets are basically thrown on top of it. So obviously, I began to clean and reorganize my dresser - to the point where you can see the top and there is an air of purpose to the objects displayed upon it. While I was cleaning my dresser, I kept bumping into my boxes of books, so naturally, I began to unpack. I organized all my magazines in chronological order and size, as well as my books, alphabetized my CDs, re-stocked shelves with books, and figured out a way to cleverly hide my various assortment of kitschy figurines that were gifted to me by my grandmother. Lastly, I finally decided to hang some of my figure drawings on my wall. After I had tacked the last corner of my drawings, I stepped back, looked at the clock, and it was 6am.

The sad thing is, I enjoyed every last minute of it.

The sadder thing, though, is that I woke up this morning and took my car to a professional car wash and sat anxiously in the waiting area for my car, and was embarrassingly excited to see just how clean it was.

I know, I'm a bit manic in a strange sort of Martha Stewart way - but not always, just sometimes.