Those of you who know me know that I'm not the neatest person in the world or the best housekeeper. Frankly, I hate cleaning. It bores me. But I recognize that it needs to be done. Last winter, after I got fired from job number three in a year, I kind of had a meltdown. I stopped doing a lot of things I should have been doing. Depression has a funny way of making the little, essential thing unimportant. As a result of my meltdown, I let my house get embarrassingly messy. And by the time I felt like cleaning it up, it was such a mess I didn't know where to start. Enter the boyfriend....
The boyfriend is a neatnik. I actually like that he's a neatnik. Because he's forced me to get off my ass and clean my house. And I don't just mean basic cleaning. I mean really cleaning. Throwing things away. I have gone through my closet for the first time since I moved into this house and gotten rid of clothes. And in an act of supreme faith, I got rid of all my fat clothes. Because I'm not going to need them again, ever.
I'm actually glad that I have cleaned my house. And thrown things away. I tend to keep everything. Not trash and newspapers like compulsive hoarders. But I keep things I probably won't ever use. Having to go through everything I own and figuring out whether I want it has been a revelation for me. I kept a lot of stuff that I didn't use and didn't need. I still probably have too much stuff. I'm a stuff person. But I have paired it down and feel better about my space.
I have Patrick's room and the garage left. Then my house will be clean and neat and organized. Three things I never thought it would be again. And I owe a huge thank you to my boyfriend for helping me. And for giving me a reason to do it. And for being so patient with me while he watched me sort through so much crap. He truly is a prince.
Comments