Messy House, Messy Mind.

messy house messy mind

Can you function when your house is a mess?

I can’t.

I try to, because I am an incredibly messy person. I leave things lying around, I don’t get to the washing up until there’s a thick layer of scum on the water I filled the sink with and ignored, intending to get back to it later. I leave the laundry until it’s overflowed the basket and taken over most of the landing. I leave little piles of clutter; books, pens, nail varnish, hair bands, wherever I go.

Mugs multiply whenever I am near. They spring up in their hundreds, half full of cold coffee or soggy herbal teabags, crescents of lipstick mark them like a brand. Post is collected eagerly from the door mat and then neglected on top of the microwave until such a huge pile has amassed that it warrants its own escort out to the recycling bin. Speaking of bins, the kitchen bin is left to overflow until its lid hangs off at a jaunty angle, pushed out by all the rubbish.

All of this I hate.

If the carpet is gritty with dirt, if the couch cushions aren’t plumped evenly, if my desk is smeared with mug rings and fingerprints, if the bath is not pristine, if the windows are snotty from the cat rubbing his little pink nose on them, if the laundry is not dealt with, if the bedding is not fresh, if the kitchen floor has not been mopped, if the cobwebs in the corners have not been dusted and the spiders humanely rehomed, if there is clutter and envelopes and tiny pieces of amazon parcel tape adorning every surface, I cannot concentrate.

If the house is a mess, my mind is a mess. Ironically, if the house is a mess, the mess so overwhelms me that I can’t summon the energy to clean it.

I read an article recently that said creative people are often on the messier side. Well, I am messy but I can’t be creative when my environment is messy. I can’t do anything when there’s a mess around which seems very unfair for someone as adverse to tidying as me.

I think what makes it worse is seeing people’s houses on Instagram looking all beautiful and neat. People with tidy homes seem to have their life together in a way I wonder if I’ll ever achieve. I wonder how much more productive I would be if instead of this doomed cycle of mess the house up, stress about the mess, resist cleaning until the house is incredibly messy, spend an entire day cleaning, I just kept it clean. I could wash up after every meal, do a load of laundry whenever enough dirty clothes accumulated, vacuum every few days, take the mugs downstairs instead of letting them fester in my bedroom. If I kept on top of things, I’d never have to waste time thinking about how I’m incapable of keeping on top of things, I wouldn’t ever have to eat cereal out of a measuring jug, there would be no slumping on the sofa whilst rendered almost catatonic by the sheer filth of my home.

But where would be the fun in that? Like the old adage says: you haven’t lived unless you’ve had to wear your bikini as underwear because you haven’t done laundry for four months.

Are you messy? Can you function when your home is a mess? Let me know in the comments or at hello@terriblypersonal.com

10 of my Most Pointless Fears

ONE:  That I will be wrongly convicted of a crime I didn’t commit.

TWO:  That my cat will sit on my face whilst I’m asleep and suffocate me.

THREE:  That I have slept for two days and missed a day of work – somehow without anyone calling me to find out where I am.

FOUR:  When I go to meet someone at a planned place, at a planned time, I worry that I invented the plan myself and they won’t show up, despite having proof on my phone that the plan was indeed made by both of us.

FIVE:  That I sleep talk all my secrets, even though I don’t have any secrets.

SIX:  Halfway through a really high note of a song (that I’ve already committed to sing) I worry that people other than my boyfriend can hear my caterwauling.

SEVEN:  That somehow what I’m listening to on Spotify is being broadcast on my Facebook page. Although is there any shame in Celine Dion and Lisa Loeb?

EIGHT:  Sometimes mid-conversation I am gripped with the fear that I have forgotten my accent and started using another one without trying to or being able to hear it. This has never actually happened (to my knowledge).

NINE:  That the way I have been pronouncing my name (correctly) for 27 years is incorrect and next time some administrator asks me it over the phone they’re going to erupt into laughter.

TEN:   That all my friends have gone to the trouble of creating alternate WhatsApp group chats without me to talk about me behind my back, or simply to avoid having to listen to my ‘jokes’.

Lies I’ve Told During Awkward Social Interactions.

I’m an introvert. Most of my social interactions are catastrophic, especially if they involve more than two other people and dancing.

I think we’ve already established that when my back’s against the ropes I become a little economical with the truth. I’m not an out and out liar…but on occasion I have pretended to be something I’m not. Why? That’s a question I’m still trying to answer. It’s not that I’m ashamed of who I am. It’s more that I don’t like the idea of someone who’s practically a stranger knowing all about me.

Here are 5 lies I’ve told whilst out in the world existing with other people:

1) I can play the cello.

I actually told my boyfriend this when I first met him. 8 years later I hope he’s noticed that I do not play the cello, or any musical instrument for that matter. The worst thing about lying to new people is that new people sometimes become your all the time people and you have to back track on all the fiction you spun when you were too nervous/drunk to be your real self.

2) I can sew.

I say this to people all the time. I told my boyfriend this when we met. We have an unused sewing machine collecting dust in the spare bedroom as a direct result of this fib.

3) I’m from Wrexham.

I never pick anywhere exotic to pretend to be from. Just north Wales.

4) Yes, I love XXXX band.

This is a lie I told frequently as a teenager. Now I realise that it’s fine to love the music I love and that boys who love Dave Grohl more than life itself are rarely worth five minutes of your time.

5) I work as a teacher/a solicitor/doctor.

A few years ago I had a job that was so depressing I couldn’t bear to disclose it even to strangers. Instead I would tell them I was a teacher, or a doctor, or a solicitor as a way of avoiding my own misery.

So, how about you? What fibs have you told in the face of an awkward social interaction? Let me know in the comments or at hello@terriblypersonal.com.