I'm sweating, I'm sick, and I've vomited like 9 times, and still nothing has been accomplished. The sock I put in the hamper has mated with dust and created like 27 dusty ass socks that have overpopulated my floor. I didn't even know I had that many socks and it's downright impressive that they got so dusty without any part of my house really being dusty.
There are receipts a'plenty from weekends past, and meals eaten from god knows when. I took out my contacts the other night and somehow ended up with barbecue sauce on my elbow. It was some David Blaine magician shit, but it actually happened. I don't know how to do it. On the outside it looks really easy. A couple clothes here, a few wrappers there, lots and lots of beer bottles. A job that your standard Glad bag should be able to take care of, but not this time. Maybe it's the ill-fated concoction of my willpower combined with the lack of need to clean this room. If I am fine with it, does it need to be cleaned? A question I have presented to my parents at least one thousand times. Do you need to make a bed if you're just going to get back in it at the end of the day? Do you need to make a bed when you have a full sized blanket with a king sized bed that'll frankly look ridiculous if you make it? I sprained my ankle trying to clean my desk off a minute ago. Ok, kidding, but I mentally sprained my ankle because it was so damn taxing to clean my desk and watch Tyra Sportscenter at the same time.
I'm losing hope much to the same extent that I lost hope in "Heroes" after season 1. No matter how hard you try to like it, it's just not a good show anymore. It's sad that at the ripe age of 22, I straight up have no idea how (refuse) to clean my room.
No point getting rid of the Rolling Rocks on the ground when I told them that I was going to throw a mixer for them with the beautiful beers of the Busch Light sorority.
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