I am being ridiculous. I know this. Please don't e mail me to let me know that.
There's a fit of cleanliness going on at our house. And it makes me really, really uncomfortable. Apparently I am just naturally messy. I like to live somewhere that the couch cover is crooked and the shelves are a little dusty and the furniture doesn't match.
The first floor of my house looks like a museum. Everytime I turn around another ash tray has been emptied. I can't handle it. I just can't handle it. It makes me feel nervous and uncomfortable and unwelcome. I've never lived with anyone who has tried to corral my mess. I went from being a messy child in a messy house to being a messy college student in the messiest dorm room in my freshman dorm (I have the award to prove it) to being a messy almost-adult in a messy apartment.
Part of the feelings of discomfort come from the simple fact that I don't feel like my stuff is being respected. I know that sounds absurd. I mean, I'm talking about how clean and polished everything is, and saying that I feel like my stuff is being defaced.
It's just like that I feel like my cat is unwelcome. And in my little worldview, my pets are an extension of myself. I love animals. Rarely do I meet an animal I don't like. And maybe that's part of it. I don't understand that they don't neccessarily automatically love animals. But I feel like Isis isn't welcome. They let him in and out. Primarily when he's being annoying about it (which is when I refuse to do anything for him. I don't reward an annoying animal). I feed him and get his water and change his litterbox and I wouldn't ask anyone else to do those things. But I wish they'd welcome my cat.
And I feel like everything I brought into this house is underappreciated. It's absurd and unbased, but it's true. No one thanked me for paying all the ultilies. That's a stupid thing to care about. But I do. I want them to be like "Hey, thanks for fronting those $200."...
And I have a certain way I like my things. I've had this problem since I was a child. I don't want you to move my stuff. If you ask? I really won't care if you do it. But don't move my stuff without asking. Don't touch it. I had a nervous breakdown once when my mother cleaned my room. Complete and utter dispair. Serious depression. Not because I thought she had violated my privacy. Mostly because she had moved all my stuff. Also because I don't want to live somewhere where everything is put away.
I like my mess. And having my mess be limited is making me feel really unwelcome. It's hard to describe, but maybe you know. Maybe you're used to being able to come in and drop your purse and leave your shoes in the middle of the floor and keep the things that you use everyday out in the living room. That's mostly all I want. I want to be able to leave my stuff in the living room. I need more than one room for all my junk.
Tensions are running high in our house. I feel really unwelcome here. No one has really done or said anything to cause that. It's prolly mostly just me being all low self-esteem about not working and feeling useless and thinking that everyone else thinks the same things about me...
And I do know that bitching about it on the internet isn't going to change anything and I ought to just tell my roommates how I feel.
And I do know also that this will probably calm down. I will adjust to the clean. Probably by becoming a hermit upstairs. I'm okay with that. I really am. I sort of planned for it. Or else they will adjust to the mess. I'm not going to start nit-picking up after myself. And I can't believe that anyone could possibly be so devout that she would continue to do it for very long.
posted by mary ann 1:21 PM