Keeping Up

My best friend growing up lived in an immaculate house. White walls, clean counters, knick-knacks in their own special place. The floors were clear, carpet vacuumed, tile mopped. The house had windows everywhere and seemed to glow with tranquility.

The three rambunctious kids living there would put everything away that they used almost immediately. It was amazing to see. I had this friend as a roommate, her side of the room was impeccable, mine looked like a hurricane.

There is no use denying it. I’m a slob. A lazy slob. My room was always looked like a tornado had recently been through it. The house that I now own has something on every surface available. I am a cluttered mess.

When I’m reading, or at a therapist and they say to go back to my peaceful childhood home – I don’t think of the house that I grew up in. No, I think of my friend’s flawless sanctuary.

If I could have one thing that the Jones’s have it would be the ability to contain. To put things away when I’m done with them. To not spread out everything I own when I settle. To display my knick-knacks in a pleasing and not cluttered way. To not have so much clutter in the first place. I seemed to have missed this aspect of growing into an adult.

 
Keeping up with the Jones’

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