I was growing tired of sleeping in a bed that had a dip in the middle on one side and the fact the bed frame punched a hole in my wall and rubbed away the paint on one side of the wall. Mom and I decided that it would be best to put my box spring and mattress on the floor for the time being. I started to clean my room in preparation.
Cleaning is not something I willingly do very often and when I do I either clean my room, the 1st floor bathroom, or the kitchen as they are all about the same size. Cleaning puts me in a very odd mental state, I become like a feral animal, a trait mom and I share.
I could never live in a time when women were expected to clean, because the depression I was born with would have manifested in a worse way than it did. I might have killed someone.
Cleaning frustrates me and what makes matters worse is the knowledge that if I stop I will lose my momentum and give up. This is another reason I don't like people over, it means a scrub down of the lower floor.
Another problem I seem to face when cleaning is the realization of how much stuff I actually have and the lack of any inkling of where to put it all. Though I must say that I was really happy when I found the design for Eric's hair, (Eric being a character in one of my future novels. He has morphing hair, meaning I can never remember how to draw it.) Then I found several books. I started to pile things on my bed and Georgette stared at me from her spot among the blankets.
I took a break when mom got home to get her dates Mr. Whoopie Pie and Doritos. I ran into my English teacher and being in a strange mental state I might have been a bit confused about why he asked me if I was working. ( I didn't realize that I looked somewhat dressed up... Did I ever mention I go to the store in my nightgown often? Don't worry I cover it with a black skirt and sweatshirt. )
I got what I needed to get and went home muttering to myself about something random. Mom and I started at the mess that is my room and felt a sense of dread at moving my bed.
We flipped the bed on it's side and stared at the layer of junk on the floor.
"Mom, where's the shovel?"
"In the cellar."
The one I have to go outside to get to or the one that I can get to from the nameless room?"
"Outside" Laughing at my pain.
I was around this point I noticed that the dogs were wandering among the trash and I might have been better off doing this on my own. That thought was squashed by my next thought of "Like I would turn down free help."
Mom left me to pick through the pile for anything I wanted to keep. After about ten minutes I resolved that if it had been under my bed for X amount of time then I really wouldn't miss it so I we started to scoop things into the trash bag. We flipped the box spring so that the dip was aimed at the wall and flipped the mattress on top.
I am now hunting down a new bed and platform that won't punch holes in my wall and make me pull out my hair in anger.
Be sure to read about my worst day ever also posted today ^^