Dirty Rooms, Dirty Mind?

My room is a mess. I know it is, but I have nothing in me to care enough to clean it. Honestly, the mess isn’t even that bad. Just a pile of clothes on my bed that needed to be put away a week ago, and dirty carpet that is covered in cat fuzz.

If I am honest though, I have been avoiding cleaning my clothes (which all smell bad because my sister threw them in my room while they were damp) because I like the weight of them at night when sleeping.

I really wish I could follow that confession with “not in a weird way or anything” but that would be a fallacy.

Willingly sleeping by a pile of dirty clothes is weird. Granted, I don’t really notice mess a lot of time because I am just sort of rolling between sleep and work, but last night I did.

But it felt like there was another person, like I wasn’t alone. Like I had someone sleeping next to me, someone who I could share that kind of intimacy and trust with.

Instead of thinking about how lonely I feel in a crowd.


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