Tuesday, September 12, 2017

The Filth

I'm not the most motivated person. I've been this way most my life and because of it I've been called lazy, which isn't exactly wrong. So I'm kinda lazy. You can imagine this mostly applies to cleaning, school, anything I don't particularly enjoy.

Like when I'm drinking water in my room. Instead of getting up and throwing the water bottle away in the kitchen (I don't have a trash can in my room) I simply throw it on the floor and I've accepted this way of living. I've acceptable that pile of water bottles and crumpled pieces of paper five feet away from my bed. Everything builds up. The dirty clothes, the trash, the shoes that I always lose because I just throw them to the side when I get home. I'm a little filthy and I usually have no motivation to fix that. Usually.

There eventually comes a time when the water bottles become too much. The dirty clothes becoming a carpet on the floor is a little suffocating and I have nothing to wear. The random junk I have no need for and old notes I took from church are an eyesore, because now I can actually pinpoint what each pile of garbage is, but then there are the pads and tampons literally everywhere. How they wind up in every corner and crevice of the room, I have no idea.

I look at it and think, “This is fine.” but deep down, I know it's driving me a little mad. Then comes the point where I just have to clean, but it's not like I huff and get to work. It happens progressively, as if my mind is trying with all it's might to get me to do something about the mess and it can finally nudge me forward. It comes with the slow realization that the reason I migrated towards my bed to write is less about comfort and more to do with the fact that my desk is too messy to function. It's less my place to write and more my cat's place to puke when she eats too much. It happens when I begin to realize that the moment I get out of bed, my feet are coated in dirt and I have to constantly wipe them on random pieces of clothing on the floor throughout the day. I get that small nudge when I start to trip over clothes and the mess that is my room starts to come into the clean path from my bed to the door. I get a little bit of motivation when the filth is too much for even me.

Here's where my brain likes to trick me into to cleaning my room. I start with one thing. I think about how great it was when I still used to my desk to write and I think, “I should probably clean it up, it won't take too long.” Then I clean around my chair and under the desk, I pick up the clothes, but I have no place to put them. They're dirty, I can't put them in the basket with my clean clothes.

Side note, I have three baskets for this purpose, but the two other ones are already filled.

I need to clean them so I can put them somewhere, but my parents have gone to bed and the washing machine is right by their door. I decided to on putting them in garbage bags and washing them in the morning. I clean around the desk, but before I know it, I picked up . . . all? . . . the clothes?? Somehow I made it all the way over to the other side of the room and now my dirty clothes are together and ready to be washed??? How did this happen????

Then I suddenly have another bag I'm putting my trash into and the water bottles have been thrown away. My room is looking like a room and I can't stop there. The trash has been thrown away, the clothes off the floor, the feminine products are in unused makeup bags, and my sister is claiming things I don't want and I'm sweeping the remaining things into a pile in the middle of the room and I'm sorting things. I managed to clean off the bookshelf of my older sister's old things and my books have a place to go.

That's how it works. I start with one thing and that puts me in a cleaning mood. I got the motivation not because my parents told me to, but because I chose to do it and I had my own purpose.

I'm now in a clean room that doesn't even look like mine, but I'm reminded of one of the reasons cleaning my room after it becomes that mess bothers me so much. I swept up the floor, moved things around, and the dust and dirt and cat hair becomes unsettled. It's all flying the in air and as I'm finishing up, I'm also sneezing and dying.

By the way, if you're curious, here's a picture of everything I'm allergic to:


(I thought I had avoided food allergies, but it caught me with citric acid.)

I attempt to take allergy medicine, but it's in that moment when my allergies are the worst that I can't find it and my sneezes and sniffles are only getting worse. It's not the “Oh, a little bit of saliva is on my hand, better wipe it off.” sneeze, it's the nasty one. Anyone with allergies knows what I'm talking about.

I'm sitting here in my sparkly clean room and I'm dying. I've learned something today about messy rooms and letting it all build up.

Cleaning it up causes death. Just don't worry about it. Be filthy. It's fine.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

That Little Ache We All Know and Love

September 2nd, 2017
12:57 AM

You know that little ache? The one you get when you hear something that makes any semblance of a smile on your face drop. The one that makes your heart speed up just a bit before thumping a slow, painful beat. But it doesn't make you cry, as much as you want it to. It's just enough for you to notice and pretend it doesn't exist.

Yeah, that little ache. Don't I know it. More than ever in this moment.  

A while ago, I posted about my best friend I was beginning to like. Then I posted about how much I liked him and how much it killed me. Well, I'm past that stage. I'm full on crushing. It's the whole shebang, the relentless butterflies that I've accepted, my cheeks hurting from smiling too much (and I don't even have to be talking to him), the thinking about him all through the day and night. The fantasizing of cuddling and showering each other in kisses and simply being with him. I hate that part the most. 

It can be sweet and exciting, one of the best experiences of being a teenager, but liking somebody sucks. I would tell you, "Oh! but don't be afraid to like someone," but that would be hypocritical of me.

I talked to some friends about how I was feeling, about that ache and how he, none the wiser, was causing it. Being on the end of relationship advice, I realize that telling someone the person they like doesn't deserve them has absolutely no meaning.

What does that even mean? He's flawed, this I know, but what it mean to be undeserving somebody? I don't deserve the love of Christ. I don't deserve His forgiveness and protection. So does deserving something or someone really matter? But I'm not God. I'm flawed, too, so maybe I don't deserve him. Perhaps we're just a bunch of flawed people and the concept of deserving and entitlement is an illusion to make ourselves feel better.

In all honesty, what do any of us deserve? Certainly not another person, and it goes both ways. He doesn't deserve me and I don't deserve him, but that's not even what matters, because even if he did deserve me or I deserved him, we're not in a relationship and that's not going to change anytime soon. Probably not at all. 

They also told me that if he can't tell something is wrong, he's too self-involved to notice or care. They said that I should distance myself from him and have him figure out what's wrong. They asked if he ever even wonders about me. If he asks how I am and asks about MY love life. They were asking if he even cared about me, but here's the thing, he does. He cares about me a lot, there's no doubt about that, but there's no way to explain this to them. There's no reason either, they were only trying to help me. 

I know he cares because he doesn't let me forget. He always notices when something is wrong, he can tell when I'm upset when we're having a simple conversation. He knows when I'm tired, sad, mad, or excited in a single text. He knows me.

This isn't something I can simply explain to someone if they don't know our relationship, if they don't know just how close we are. You probably don't even understand unless you're in the same boat (my condolences if you are). If I did tell them, they'd ask me why he hasn't noticed how I'm feeling now. How I've been feeling.

The answer is simple, it isn't poetic in the slightest. It's actually kind of sad. Plain pitiful and appeases nobody.

If he's happy, I'm happy. That's the thing about the ache. Nobody sees it. It's small enough that it doesn't seep into my text messages, at least not yet. He wouldn't be able to notice because I only show him that I'm happy for him. He only sees my concern for him, he only sees that I want the best for him. There's no seeing past that because it isn't fake, I truly am. It always hurts a little, but I'm not going to complicate things with my feelings. He's always dealing with something with some girl, the ex he can't get over that crushes his heart every chance she gets, his need to be with someone. I don't want to stress him out further.

He's imperfect. So am I. There's nobody to blame and I'm not even going to attempt to do so. It would feel good to be bitter towards myself for developing these burdensome emotions. It would feel good to be mad at him for not knowing how I feel or not feeling the same way, but that's what I like to call selfish. There's nothing wrong with liking or not liking someone, there's nothing with not knowing if somebody likes you if they've never told you. There's nothing with that little ache. There's nothing wrong with feeling. It just depends on how you handle it.

I think I'm handling it okay. I'm not just thinking about myself and what I want, and I know he's not either. He's not self-involved, he just knows that I don't like it when he holds back and that I want to be here for him in every part of his life. That's all I care about. I've said it before, I'll say it again.

Feelings aside, he's my best friend. The little ache will weigh on my chest at times, but I'll be okay.

 
I don't mean to be that person, that blogger. The one that only ever writes about their crush or significant other, but I can't be the best blogger and it seems I only ever write on here when I'm feeling particularly emotional. And what can I say? I love boy talk, but you don't know that.