Okay, so I woke up this morning, and somehow pulled on the nearest clothes I could find that didn’t smell without even taxing myself enough to open my eyes. I then half-heartedly ran a comb through my hair and dabbed a bit of makeup on. It was 7:30, and I was just getting ready to leave for work – very begrudgingly, I might add. So I stumbled out into my living room and found this garbage pile:
And I laughed. (For what feels like the first time in a very long time.) And instead of cleaning it up, I decided to root around the mess till I found my camera and snap a picture. A mess of these cataclysmic proportions ought to be documented, no? Because then it hit me, and I realized that my chaotic living room is metaphorical for how my life feels right now. If you could peel away my insides, and peer directly within, that’s what I’d look like, I swear. All muddled and unorganized and jumbled. I guess it should make sense that my physical environment matches my innards.
So I guess I should plan on cleaning everything up, or at least manage things a bit more efficiently. I hate when I feel so out of sorts.