Arnebya writes at What Now and Why, and she’s pretty much hysterical, no two ways about it. She’s not afraid to write what’s on her mind, and her honesty is refreshing. Check out her Facebook page for a lot of “did she really just say that??” statuses. She lives in the DC area with her family, and has been published all over the place. Check out these recent posts, like the Conversations with a Three-Year-Old (um, YEAH, I relate), and this one about complicated relationship with her growing daughters.

You really should have some Arnebya in your life. Thanks for sharing here today, Arnebya!

It’s Probably Your Fault My Bedroom Is Unkempt.

I like to blame. I blame my husband for the funky smell in the kitchen because the trash needs to go out when of course I could take it out. I blame my kids for my under-eye circles. I blame Sallie Mae for my debt because my student loan interest rate is higher than my mortgage’s rate. I blame Pepsi for my inability to lose my midsection’s extra section (also laziness). And I blame my mother for my not being a great housekeeper. There is blame to be assigned to many other people for all that I perceive to be subpar in my life. That last one, though? I kind of expected I’d be able to change that one around. Expectations are bigger assholes than Sallie Mae.

This is what a corner of my bedroom looks like right now (hint: the rest of the room looks this way too but I’m way more embarrassed to show you the whole room, so just use your imagination).

This pile represents clothes I wore to work this week, clothes I wore to work last week, potential clothes I’ll wear this weekend, clothes I haven’t worn in weeks, and maybe a book, some pens, one slipper whose mate is in the basement, a cord whose device is unknown, and random papers from sometime last summer. Some clothes are clean, some are not. Some papers are meaningless, others are IRS audit related. So, it’s called equal opportunity floor dwelling. Nothing is too important or too worthless to not be picked up, put away, or thrown out.

I keep expecting myself to get tired of the way the room looks (tired enough to actually do more than step over stuff or clean one corner then sit down). I keep expecting myself to act on the knowledge that my room is why my girls’ room often looks like this. Even when I do get sick of it, I can’t seem to get the whole room clean. I’ll clean this spot, then that spot. But by the time I get to the next pile the first pile has started to grow back. And I’m afraid that even if I buckle down and do the whole room I won’t be able to maintain it.

When I lived at home my bedroom was all I had to keep neat. I did a hell of a job. The minute I moved out and in with my boyfriend (who is now my husband), I noticed I started to simply throw things around. Was it the newfound freedom: our apartment, our things, our floor to have piled high with unworn, slightly worn, dirty, clean, previously folded but fell to the floor so now it needs to be sniffed to determine its cleanliness because neither of us can remember if it was washed, clothes? I thought that at first, but then I came to realize that throwing things down came naturally. I’d kept my bedroom at home neat because it was expected; nay, it was demanded! My mother never visited my apartment (not inside, at least. I just realized how sad that makes me. UH-OH, INADVERTENT DOOR TO FEELINGS OPENED; MOVING ON…) so I never heard her say, “I didn’t raise any pigs. Clean this floor up.” I wonder if that’s what I need. Although my mother has been in my house (we’re 12 years past that first apartment), she hasn’t been in my bedroom. AM I STILL WAITING ON HER TO SHAME ME INTO CLEANING IT?

Maybe this’ll be it. Maybe this sharing of a part of my room’s shambles with the internet will be the catalyst I’ve needed to clean it, to keep it clean, to find some level of give a damn because right now it’s on E. Maybe, ooooh, maybe I’ll do before and after shots, get new curtains and matching sheets, paint an accent wall, care about what y’all think.

Yeah…no. That sounds ambitious. And filled with lies. I should probably just get the drawers I wore yesterday off the floor, huh? Because expecting an anonymous cleaning service donation is silly, right? (I sure hope that’s not silly since it truly is an expectation because now you pity me, (and the expectation of me cleaning it myself is unrealistic)). See? Expectations are assholes. And it’s all Sallie Mae’s (and my mother’s) fault.

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