The continuing saga of 8-Minute Memoirs for Ann Dee Ellis writing challenge.
I don't like messes. I never have. I do enjoy creating them, but they all need to get cleaned eventually.
You wouldn't know this walking through my apartment. There are stacks of books on chairs, open boxes filled with things that don't fit on shelves, and toys overflowing atop my dresser.
You would, however, know this walking through my classroom. During the school year, I have to spend anywhere from a third to half of my days inside my classroom, and I cannot work in a messy room. So I keep it clean. Almost obsessively so. Every morning when I unlock the door and walk in, I breathe a sigh of relief at the perfectly aligned desks, chairs perched on tables, and freshly vacuumed floors. It's not like that every morning of course, but most of the time my classroom is perfect.
When I leave at the end of the day, I move through the room, erasing the notes I've scribbled on the whiteboards and fixing the taped-up signs that have gone askew after 200 students stormed by.
Then I go home and I sit in my mess. I don't leave every mess there all the time, but my apartment is so small that some mess can't be helped. I'd need more shelving units, more cubby holes, and less stuff to get it all organized. I'm very attached to my stuff though. My Rey and Kylo Ren POP vinyls proudly look over my bed, holding their lightsabers up for the duel. The two fans that migrate through the apartment depending on where we need them stand tall, ready for action at a moment's notice. My row of dresses hanging in the closet that I never close sway back and forth as I move past.
It comforts me.