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it's hard enough even trying to be civil to myself
The cleaning spree does not end. Now it has led me to strip my bed down to the forest green sheets, the walls of everything but a few black and white pictures of deserts. The shelves and tabletops of all decorative trinket type things, except for the white flowers and a candle. And my plants, of course.
After weeks of obsessing over the colors in here, as well, I've settled on grey and black. And it feels right. It feels simple. Clean.
I feel as though I'm trying to eradicate something.
A thunderstorm breezed through and cooled the air, but it is still humid. It will always be humid, it seems. The ache in my knee will never go away. I'll never be able to breathe freely, easily.
At least my room has been bared.
I was carless today. Because I'm taking to Northampton, my mother insisted we get it checked. I'm not paying for it, so I didn't argue. They were supposed to identify the problem with the air-conditioning, as well. At noon, my mother called to say that it would cost seven hundred dollars to get it fixed.
Air conditioning is not worth that much. I made it to Montreal and back without it in the middle of a heatwave, after all.
Every time I look around my room, the bareness of it comforts me.
And yet - fuck it - I want to buy things. CDs. Clothes. Boots. I probably will. Perhaps next week. Nothing clutter-like, though. Clutter is evil.
This neat freak relapse frightens me.
After weeks of obsessing over the colors in here, as well, I've settled on grey and black. And it feels right. It feels simple. Clean.
I feel as though I'm trying to eradicate something.
A thunderstorm breezed through and cooled the air, but it is still humid. It will always be humid, it seems. The ache in my knee will never go away. I'll never be able to breathe freely, easily.
At least my room has been bared.
I was carless today. Because I'm taking to Northampton, my mother insisted we get it checked. I'm not paying for it, so I didn't argue. They were supposed to identify the problem with the air-conditioning, as well. At noon, my mother called to say that it would cost seven hundred dollars to get it fixed.
Air conditioning is not worth that much. I made it to Montreal and back without it in the middle of a heatwave, after all.
Every time I look around my room, the bareness of it comforts me.
And yet - fuck it - I want to buy things. CDs. Clothes. Boots. I probably will. Perhaps next week. Nothing clutter-like, though. Clutter is evil.
This neat freak relapse frightens me.