Sunday, January 21, 2007
clean room, clean mind
In the last few years, my family has had to clean some spaces that belonged to members who were, to put it kindly, a little deranged. I didn't participate personally in these cleaning orgies, but I heard the tales. Rooms flooded with piles of newspapers stacked under mattresses, with human ashes, old receipts from 20 years ago, defunct electronics, loose change, girly magazines, old bills, piles of books and dust that had been undisturbed since the last century.
As I was carefully picking my way across my room yesterday I realized that I might have, um, inherited some tendencies towards slovenliness. Clean laundry mingled with my rising frustration at not getting any progress made on my art projects. My drafting table was swamped under rubber supplies and open bottles of oil. Dust bunnies were mounting open rebellions in the corners and I felt more and more powerless. I wanted to flee the dark, cold cave it had become.
I often complain about how disorganized I am, and when I do, Eleven gently points me towards FlyLady. I finally poked around the website a little, and read the article about cleaning the sink. Somehow, while my sink is still supporting an active compost culture, it was enough to galvanize me towards getting the drafting table set up to support some comic-action. Yee Haw.
From the Outside In
There is a mystical connection between my room and my brain. Since I have purged and straightened things up, I feel much calmer, I have caught up on my correspondence, framed a bunch of photos, which are now gracing my wall, and I don't feel restless at all. I love my room, I want to stay.