Wash

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Kiss Kiss by Kim Hyun Jung

Woke up this morning and saw the mess that was my house and this immense sense of irritation descended upon me. I hate messy places. I ignore them as far as possible because I understand not everything can be labelled and sorted and stored away forever in a nice corner never to emerge again. I also understand that there is a certain measure of disorder that arises from living in a shared space. And there are time constraints on all of us, which is why my book cupboard is in a relative mess, my wardrobe has too many jackets hanging for my liking, and there are still 3 cupboard boxes in my room. All of them will disappear come early August, when I FINALLY have the time to sort things out. I moved into my new house in January, had to fight with school until mid April, had one week to relax slightly before this insane internship began in the beginning of May. So my real holiday starts only in August, where I will definitely pack up my book cupboard and wardrobe. With respect to the boxes, I have this sinking feeling that they will remain due to the sheer lack of book shelf space available in my house. We used to have a book room, and even then there were boxes of books inside; very unlikely that this part will change. 

What annoys me more than mess, is dirt. I abhor dirty places. The only day that I dare to sleep on the floor, although I love sleeping on the floor, is on Sundays after I have cleaned the floor. There is no way in hell that I will sleep on a dirty floor. I don't care if some people think its just 'some' dirt. Dirt is dirt and with all the construction and renovation in my area, I will be damned if I were to sleep on the floor.

So the things I need to do, organising wise, would be, is to tidy up the two cupboards in my room, and if possible, remove a box or two. After that, I want to launder all the new clothes that I've bought and is waiting for me under my bed. So many things to do, and so little time. Knowing myself, I will probably throw away a bag or two of things when sorting things out. I have this habit of tossing things that I seem to no longer actively use, which might be something bad, because I end up tossing things with sentimental value. Of course, I usually forget about them the moment they head down the bin, but nevertheless... I wish I could keep more of it. If only I had enough space to allow things to collect dust in a corner, as they say.

Have this gut feeling that I will experience numerous problems if I were to have my own family. I dislike the never-ending nature of chores, and there is only so much I can tolerate before feeling as though I should be paid wages to do household chores. In a way, this has been a factor, and very possibly, a problem, that I have with guys. I constantly ask myself if a guy is worth my attention by posing to myself the question of his willingness to do household chores for me. Will he be willing to clear the laundry every other day? Will he clean half the house? Will he clean the windows and change the lights? If the guy seems unlikely to be agreeable, or has ever professed his dependence on his maid/mother, I squash all thoughts of taking things anything further. The immediate failures of my mental assessment are the guys who proudly admit that their room is a pig sty. Those who ask me to, jokingly of course, clean their room on their behalf, will never proceed beyond the distant friend category. I have no patience to date fully grown children who do not have the maturity to see the need to keep their environment clean and orderly. Am I judging them? You bet I am. 

Am I asking for too much? Maybe, but the pain that comes from returning home to huge piles of unwashed laundry and random articles all over the house while your spouse lazes on the couch watching television is beyond words. I might just go to the kitchen, grab a knife and threaten him with it. Very cell block tango? Perhaps, but irritation-induced manslaughter is something that I can relate to. It would be far better for all parties involved for me to look for the elusive modern day male who is man enough to do chores with me. 

Either that or I could stay single and live in my clean, happy and neat little world. No dead men, no frustrated me, and everyone lives happily ever after. And no, according to my consultation with a Psych major friend, I lack the drive to be afflicted with OCD. Thank goodness for normalcy.

Oh. And I think you owe me an apology. I am still waiting for it.

"Atrocious. Love is atrocious. / You were the very reason I breathe for, but now you’re suffocating me. / Love is so bad, bad, bad, bad, bad. / Love only gets worse as you dig deeper."