Except I do like it.
But I hate it.
I'm going through every box I've ever thrown my crap in and sorting it into 'Trash' (one huge garbage bag that has spontaneously multiplied into, like, three), 'DI' (another huge garbage bag that grew an identical twin with unidentical insides...because that would be just silly) and then repackaging the rest of it.
Which has now become the worst mess any of my rooms have ever known. Which, believe you me, is saying something.
I've officially determined as of late that I have an unusually high level of testosterone and an unfortunately low level of estrogen that causes me to have awkwardly distinct male tendencies.
I burp, I eat anything, I can easily translate thoughts back and forth between 'female' and 'male' language, and I am the messiest human to ever grace this beautiful planet. Although, not like, 'Hoarders' level of messy. That's just detrimental to sanity (also caused by a lack of sanity so I suppose that would make lots of sense...).
But I am a pack-rat with low organizational skills.
So now my room is this maze of black trash bags, unidentifiably full or empty cardboard boxes that of course are the immovable kind when they come in contact with my toes and lots of random junk lying around the floor. I'm basically habitating myself in a mine field of history.
Luckily, I do have boyfriend who comes over and makes sure when I'm pull out that math worksheet from third grade that somehow I kept and preserved magically all these years and begin holding it and smiling at it like it's a priceless heirloom from a long lost and forgotten grandma he says to me,
"Hope? Throw it away....now."
And then it goes in the trash bag. Because it's math. And that's where math goes.
Here's where the problem comes in...(the other problem besides the fact that my obituary is gonna star a cardboard box full of photo albums and high school yearbooks). I keep finding these things that pop up in my superbly inefficient future-vision as things I could and should keep to use in my not-so-distant future house/home for once I'm married.
For instance, I happened to keep some framed pictures from my childhood room. A couple are just some flower portraits and three are Winnie the Pooh themed. They're cute and fun and I figure they'll look nice in a nursery. So I joke to boyfriend sitting on the couch,
"Haha! I guess we'll be good on decorations!"
Because not only do I have quite a few framed pictures/paintings but I also have lots of home decor artifacts like those blocks of wood that have cute words and things painted on them. And fake flower things. Stuff like that.
But instead of grinning at my little joke he gets this panicky look in his eyes and smiles super thinly like I just told him I planned on making lemon grass protein shakes from breakfast, lunch and dinner every day once we get married.
(Like I've mentioned before, I don't really actually know what lemon grass is so that little almost-metaphor thing probably isn't applicable...but whatever).
I tried to ask him what his problem was but the tight lips wouldn't budge. So I pulled a sneaky girl trick. I got 'angry', which I was a tad bit that he would just refuse to tell me what was bothering him so we could discuss it and fix it. I gave up prodding him about it and continued to pack in complete silence.
He caved in. Obviously.
Apparently he'd been paying too much attention to the fact that I have like, an overload of tigger merchandise and then coupled with the Winnie the Pooh pictures he had this vision of our future house looking like a kindergartener ate every symbol of childhood and puked it back up in their crayon drawer.
Regardless of the fact that he's a dumby face for being so stubbornly resistant to innocence I was mostly perturbed at him for withholding how he felt about it. I told him we have to be able to communicate or life won't exactly work very well and, of course, he admitted how I was right.
Not to mention his worry was completely unnecessary considering I've never even watched a real episode or whatever it is of Winnie the Pooh. I barely watched Sesame Street as a kid. I'm not a TV child. I'm a cardboard box in the backyard child. I do have a slight obsession with Tigger because he's so happy and bouncy and 'The Tigger Movie' basically makes my inner child so content it could poop rainbows. Though I must admit I have never experienced pooping rainbows so I cannot vouch for the amounts of content feelings it would produce....
Anyway. I had to assure him that I wouldn't turn our house into a Winnie the Pooh museum or an antique store replica because apparently he thought that's what I wanted.
Simply because I have a few stuffed Tigger toys, a Tigger magnet, a coloring book page of Tigger and a Tigger mug (most of which I have been given as gifts because I remind people of the character) and then the pictures I joked about hanging in our house someday.
FOR THE NURSERY.
So, uh, chill and think about who you're talking about for a sec, honey, okay? Do you know me at all?
Yes? Alright, then stop being dumb.
And he did.
It was just silly.
I don't have a bed.
Sad Hope is sad.
(For your understanding, I don't have a bed because the maze is more like an obstacle course and overflowed from the floor to my mattress...../cry)
I could just move it, yes. But I reiterate; junk all over the floor. I just got reacquainted with my carpet. I feel bad suppressing it into subdued nonexistence already. I may just sleep on the couch. Which I do have one in my room. I have a surprising amount of furniture in my room. It just kind of accumulated over time. My room became the reject sanctuary. No one wanted the broken shelf so I took it in and just put all the heavy books on the side that had adequate studs under it and monitored the weight balance.
No one wanted the ugly couch so...well, I gave it lots of oddly patterned pillow friends so it's ugliness is counteracted by the awkwardness of mismatched prints.
No one wanted the water-stained kidney-shaped desk so I angled it against my bedframe and put my wide-bottomed lamp base over the watermark.
No one wanted the table all covered in a sticky honey mess so I just stuck a red plastic cup upside down over the goo with the rim barely sunk into the edge so it would basically glue into place.
We all get along just fine.
There's also the mirror that did go with the obnoxiously low vanity set but...mirrors are difficult in my A-line ceilinged room. So it basically showcases my knees and feet.
I think what I'm getting at is I'm going to miss living in this room and hope that I can possibly maybe keep most of the furniture that currently occupies my life.
I'm much more excited to move to Disneyland, though. I can deal without my imaginary furniture friends for a few months.
(Not so sure I can deal without hugs from boyfriend and scrapbook sessions with best-friend and my dark beautiful piano-lover....but I will live!)