A person walking into my house wouldn't think that a perfectionist lived here. If you were to enter the front door, the first thing you would notice is the smell of rotting fruit or something else I cannot detect. I try to keep bad odors from building up but my nose is immune to my own scent, and I can only tell when something is really bad when I return from work and smell the place as I enter myself.
Second thing they would notice is that the place is a wreck. Old junk mail litters the floor so thoroughly that you cannot tell there's a carpet underneath it all. Old boxes are piled up in every spot of floor space save for the narrow paths leading back to the rest of the apartment. Somewhat less than useful mail is piled up on the sofa to the point that the top layers have started to glacially crawl down the slope and onto the floor like a giant ice sheet in the distant past.
Upon making it past the front room, which by the way has on one wall, four full sized bookshelves that are eight feet tall and completely filled with books from end to end, you make it into the "dining room." Instead of the typical dining table and setting one normally finds there, you would see a couple of computer desks forming a 'U' shape with one functioning and one non functional computer sharing a single old school monitor. The floor here is littered with trash of old popcorn buckets, used paper towels, and bags of stale chips as well as piles of old computer software boxes tucked neatly under the desks.
Turning right you would see the Kitchen. This is one of the worst parts of the apartment. Every dish that exists in this place is piled up on the countertops with hardened food congealing inside each dish, and the stove top is unspeakably filthy. The Sink is relatively clear of debris, but still houses a few semi clean dishes that seem to find themselves washed over and over again, while the rest of the dishes have been sitting in their spots for ages. Occasionally rotting fruit can be found on top of the refridgerator, but most of the time they're removed promptly upon evolution.
Past all of this is a short hallway that is strangely neat looking, clear of debris, yet the carpet is filthy and unvacuumed. A small branch of doors leads to the bathroom straight ahead and the bedroom off to the right. The bathroom looks like someone made an effort to clean it, but stopped short of actually wiping down a single surface in any location. The bedroom looks like the cleaning process had started there, but the cleaner gave up after picking up all of the dirty and clean laundry mixed together on the floor, and left the carpet unvacuumed, yet clear of most items.
This is where I live, and why I never have visitors. I sit at this computer during all of my free time at home and can ignore the rest of my existence save for the few minutes I spend leaving or entering the bachelors den. Once upon a time, when I was a child in grade school, my father commented that my room was the cleanest and most organized room in the house. It was always immaculate and spotless, and everything was in its proper place. Since the nervous break down almost a decade ago, I've lost that perfectionism in favor of utter domestic chaos. I wish I could get it back.
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Cuddly Bunny
12 Apr 2007, 5:29 am
