So Holly came out to all of us this weekend by sharing pictures of “The Room” — i.e.; the room in her house where she’s been storing-and-ignoring all her crap. Then Laura and I showed our solidarity in the comments by admitting that we, too, have Rooms of Which We Do Not Speak. I also postulated that perhaps all “Rooms” are one on some sort of quantum level (because I read way too much science fiction), but then later I stuck my head in my Room and yelled, “Hey, y’all! I got box wine and fish tacos!” and none o’ you bitches answered, so I guess not.
But even if they’re not connect-ed, I still say the Rooms connect us. Because everybody has one, and people who say they don’t are either liars or OCD psychos (and probably also liars, because my dear sweet mama is as OCD as they come and even she has a Room). My own personal Room is alternately known as “Petey’s Room” in honor of the imaginary-baby-I-do-not-have (stay tuned for more of the Legend of Petey!) or as “The Study” or “The Office” because it’s full of books and the computer is in there. There’s also what we’ll call… uh… storage… yeah, that’s the ticket.
If I am completely honest, the books are mostly to blame for the state of The Room. I spent much of my formative years in libraries, all of which had signs that said “Please Do Not Reshelve Books.” So I don’t. But I have 38 moving-boxes’-worth of books at last count, of which Second-Tier Fiction, Mysteries, Nonfiction and Reference are all in The Room (First-Tier Fiction is in the living room and Classics are in the hallway, if you must know). So, when I fail to reshelve, it quickly becomes what I call “an issue” and Chuckweasel calls “a fire hazard” (psh, semantics). And so far, the Magical Library Fairies have not shown up. I think it’s because I don’t have one of those carts.
Moving on to the computer area, our heroine is confronted by notes and papers and other shit that will someday add up to the Great American Novel and make me feelthy steenkin’ rich. There’s also bills in a wide variety of payment stages along with CDs that are mysteriously out of their cases and cases that are mysteriously empty of CDs.
That leaves the “storage” area, which would actually be quite nice if I followed through. See, after a water leak in the apartment above me made it clear that storing boxes in the laundry area wasn’t gonna work, I went and got a whole bunch of those matching plastic tubs and created a space for them in The Room behind a bookcase (of course!). There’s one for Christmas decorations, one for hardware/electrical-type stuff (hey, I’m butch!), one for totebags and backpacks (shut up), one for purses and hats (I said SHUT UP), and the other 2 are for out-of-season clothes and all the pictures that have never made it into the photo albums (yeah, those are in there, too). See, all very organized… until I go looking for something in one of the tubs and throw stuff EVERYWHERE like I was trying to dig a prairie dog hole in my accumulated possessions.
And to make matters worse, whenever I clean the rest of the apartment I end up hucking MORE miscellaneous shit into The Room. I’m gonna have to suck it up and go in there soon… If I don’t come back, send wine.