Friday, June 29, 2012
It's not as simple as the title of this chunk of text suggests but in my experience and in that of others (as a quick Google search will show) dirty rooms do contribute to depression-and depression contributes to a dirty room. The dirty room > depression > dirty room > depression thing is evidently a vicious cycle most difficult to breakthrough. Anyone who has successfully managed to clean their dirty room deserves an accolade of some sort for only we messy disorganised people know hard it is to get our stuff together mentally and physically.
The thing is- I am not even a messy person-at heart I am a perfectionist obsessed with cleanliness: a true obsessive compulsive disorderly.
Yet, here I sit on a broken plastic box containing a myriad of different bits and bobs I have been too afraid to organise for years, while my feet are outstretched on a floor the shade of which I have long forgotten covered with clothes, assorted coloured hangers, bin liners, faded receipts, bottle caps, crusty papers, copper coins, dried leaves, screwdrivers, lipsticks, an identifiable metal thingy, and a greenish looking fuzzy organism that has made house in a porcelain bowl upon which I'll unleash my wrath and send a flood of water and washing up liquid.
So how then did this come to be? I'll be honest: I haven't the foggiest but I could take a guess.
Raging desire and rife discipline.
I've been living this way for some time now: slipping and sliding over these plastic hangers and falling enough times to create a dent in the floorboards and a bruise on my bum- the costs of which I deserve. Given the state of this pigsty it is no surprise why I; can never find anything; am always running late; am often losing my temper; get frustrated; am easily stressed; am feeling trapped; sense chaos instead of peace; and finally why I find myself feeling a paradoxical sentiment women all over the world share: I don't have anything to wear.
We do own countless quantities of clothes but we complain like we don't. Our mouths complain because we believe we don't have enough of this and that and this and that whereas we have more than enough to truly last us a lifetime. Should we choose to lead a life of simplicity and frugality all that we have shall suffice. Bony Gandhi after all spent his latter years in a loincloth and Muhammad had only three pairs of clothes. And those sandals Jesus walked in? I'm sure they were the hand me downs his father used to beat him with. Anyone of any ethnic background involving rice and colonialism will tell you their great grandfather "came to this country with only a pair of slippers". This one Lebanese gentleman I came to know came with barebloodyfeet: but I think that had something to do with him losing his shoes while hiding with the cargo on the aircraft. My own grandfather apparently wore my grandmother's slippers to work. This is how it worked: he saved up money to buy a pair of slippers which he gave to his beloved and then borrowed them during the day so he could work to save up for a second pair. He wasn't a transsexual: sandals in Asia are unisex. Asiatics apparently didn't give two monkeys about sizes either. Have any of you ladies tried purchasing a pair of shoes you don't really need in a size up on sale and sticking insoles in them? It works. The common sizes 5 and 6 sell out but nobody wants to buy a 7. Those are the leftover pairs. Buy them. Stick in an insole. Wear them. They look the same. I learnt this nifty trick from a self confessed cheapskate friend of mine. She did the same thing with clothes. Bought things from the tall even the maternity section then got busy on her sewing machine. Women have really forgotten how to be women. We were far more useful once.
If only I masterfully learnt to minimise instead of multiply. The rampant consumerism engulfing us encourages two things: to organise and to recycle. Both of which sound great but still subtly satiate our need for more and more. If we focused on less and less we'd live freer more fulfilled lives. I know this because I try this. And I will try it once more: I will minimalise.
Recycle, reuse, donate, hand it down, hoard for granddaughter, ration for world war three, or chuck it the feck out.
And from here onwards? No more buying unneeded stuff. Or stealing if you're a hoodlum.
Clean room=clean mind.
But that fails to explain why all these modern music makers with their fancy arse squeaky clean cribs can't seem to think straight: Puff Daddy being a prime example.
That's another blog entry altogether.