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 By David Jenneson June 8, 2004 Since I’ve been on my own again some people describe my apartment as a hopeless mess, while others say it is just a regular mess that could use a little clean up. The truth is my place follows me like a bug though life, but I have an excuse. Like many people of my generation I was never shown how to clean up after myself. I am not a bad dog, but an innocent dog not properly trained by its owner. After I got married the deception continued: I was cleaned up after and lead further down the garden path. Now there is the devil to pay. Women have special vision. They see a mess as dirt. They see dirt even when dirt is so afraid of them it runs and hides. Dust balls cringe in the corners. I have washed dishes at a woman’s house with every good intention in the world, only to be politely asked afterward if I need glasses. By contrast men see a mess for what it is - creative disorder - more in the way of an inviting and comfy den. Men instinctively know that too much order in would mess up everything, and even some women know it too. Messes are not gender specific. Nor are messes properly appreciated. In home decorating magazines there are rooms with all sorts of things flung everywhere, and they look great. It has taken a decorator with great creative talent to make them just so. But what about the skill necessary to create a good, stable, long-lasting mess? A stack of dishes in the sink doesn’t just happen. No, the building of such a structure requires complex multiple calculations of balance, stresses, supports and the force of gravity akin to the architecture of a skyscraper. People like me do it all by eye, and make it aesthetically pleasing in the bargain. This is not recognized by any glossy magazine. We work our fingers to the bone and what do we get in return? Heartaches. Clothing is an even greater challenge. I swear terrorists are sneaking in my bedroom and planting bombs made of clothing then exploding them. The result is a war zone which becomes piled and stratified with layers and layers of clothes over time. Of course the obvious solution would be to take them down to the laundry room and wash them, but there are some pretty pushy people down there who don’t play by the rules. I prefer to remain above the fray and keep my own counsel. The only person I know who had solved this riddle is a bread truck driver who simply throws his used underwear away and buys new stuff. I imagined his apartment to be filled with big bundles of trussed up underwear like bales of cotton. It may not be the tidiest solution but it shows a certain zeal for the cause and definite ingenuity. Besides, people who lead fastidious lives make you feel like you are in trouble the minute you step into their house. Especially their living rooms. I personally know of someone who has a painfully clean living room with leather couches, original art on the walls and sculptures on the tables. No one goes there except by mistake. One night they had a lot of guests over. Naturally they sat around the spic and span kitchen but at some point one person snuck off to the hyper-clean living room and fell asleep. When he woke up in the morning he leapt off the pristine leather couch and slunk hangdog into the kitchen. “I’m sorry for falling asleep in there,” he confessed, as if he were a human dust ball. At least people like me don’t wash our hands every five minutes and count the number of steps up to the front door every day. Nevertheless I’ve been advised that a darn good clean up will improve my mental state. I’m all in favor of improved mental states but where do I start? I’ve asked this question also. They say do one room at a time. Fine. I tackle the bathroom but all that sluicing and sandblasting take a long time. Then I tackle the kitchen. I can hear the evil tink tink tink of the dishes moving restively in the sink like living things. Still I persevere but it takes forever. Only then do I discover that by the time I’ve finished the second room the first room is messy again. It’s like the Wheel of Pain. One might well ask how the first room can become messy all by itself while I’m occupied with the second room. It’s like some invisible mess maker is following me around, undoing my work. I have thought long and hard about this and come to the only logical conclusion; I have a messy spirit guide. In the blink of an eye it returns things to their natural messy state in a well-meaning effort to make me true to myself. I don’t know about you, but I draw the line at messing with spirit guides. Still there is hope. I steadfastly cling to my good intentions. I swear to God if I weren’t writing this I’d be on my knees scrubbing the bathroom bowl right now. ------------ About the author: David Jenneson is a writer and noveliest who lives in Vancouver, Canada. You may reach him at his website www.davidjenneson.com email: dmail@telus.net Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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