My apartment is half really damn clean, and half a pit of chaos. See, I have this bizarre mental block about putting clothes away. Doing laundry, that I don't mind at all. Honestly, it's one of my favorite chores, but that's not even a concern here, since since I moved to my current apartment I get fluff and fold anyway. No, it's just taking these already folded and clean clothes and putting them in the damn dresser that's somehow beyond me.

So, the floor of my bedroom is almost always completely covered in a knee-high drift of clothes, clothes which are (notionally, at least) clean. Whenever I need to find something, which is frequent since you can lose a God damn basketball in my room, I chuck armloads of clothes onto the bed until the floor is clear or until I find what I want. In my head, I promise, "OK, well, before I go to sleep, I have to put everything away since it's all on the bed!"

Not really. Every night at about one o'clock in the a.m., I wind up sweeping the whole mess back onto the floor... and the circle of life is complete.

Yesterday all the clothes made a portentous and slightly longer journey, this time out to the futon in the living room. Then I could sweep and mop my bedroom floor for the first time in about a quarter of a year. The non-foldables (socks and underwear) have already been put away, and now I have the task of actually folding just about every piece of clothing I own and trying to find a place for it in either the dresser or the wardrobe.

Honestly, I should just burn all this stuff. I really only wear about two pairs of pants and maybe six or seven shirts. Everything else is just a tease.