I'm typing this entry lying down in the middle of an empty bed frame because it's the cleanest available spot in my room right now. There are piles everywhere- books and clothes mostly, along with bits of furniture and a huge pile of random knick-knacks that I've deemed impossible to throw away. Cleaning my room always makes me wish that I were better organized, and that I didn't have serious pack rat issues. Why do I insist on keeping meaningless notes that people wrote me during class in middle school, or every single photo I've ever taken even the bad ones, or dusty carnations that Trevor Logsdon and Michael Eggleston gave to me in 9th grade. Normal people don't have these kinds of attachments! Every time I start to throw something away, I become convinced that I'll need it at a later date. "No don't do that," I say convincingly, "don't get rid of that adorable three foot mini tape measure, It's going to be vital next week. You need this."
My mom suggested that I put these sorts of things in a box in the garage, and then give them away or throw them out when a few weeks have passed and we've "had some time apart". I think she was kidding, but so far it's working alright.
This paragraph took me at least half an hour to write...god damn.
Some things to think about later:
The party at Dede's last night was strange. All the friend dynamics in our group are so incredibly different now. Is it weird/good? Just weird? I'm not sure.
Sophia had better come back from Argentina SOON. I can't handle all this excessive sisterly travelling. IT IS HORRIBLE!
- (no subject)