April 30th 2015
Today, if you’re the kind of person that reads these posts every day (firstly, thank you, secondly, if you aren’t that kind of person then you are truly awful) then you may remember this post “Case” where I effectively spoke about how I knew that when I came back to Uni from my Easter break that I wouldn’t unpack my suitcase for at least a week. Well, today, 11 days later, I have unpacked it.
Except I’ve not unpacked it into my room. I’ve moved. You see, we have a spare bedroom in my Uni house (long story short, one of my flatmates failed second year) so I’ve moved into this spare bedroom. For three reasons.
1) It was easier to move into a clean room than it was to clean a dirty room.
2) It’s nicer here.
3) There’s not really a three, but I don’t think you should make a list with only two content points. That’s less of a list and more of a sentence.
There’s this big (*appropriate adjective to describe this phenomena*) window that makes the room so much brighter than my old one, and where the desk is right in front of it it means I can look out the window all ponderous and thoughtful whilst revising. Which no doubt will lead to some distraction, but it’ll make me less depressed. This room is at the front of the house, so hopefully it’ll be a bit warmer, too.
After I’d moved into the new room, I went against my earlier logic and cleaned/tidied both rooms. And after I’d cleaned/tidied both rooms I cleaned/tidied the kitchen and the bathroom. For some reason I was in a cleaning mood. Which has happened exactly zero times in my entire life. We’d just lost 3-2 in one of the most frustrating football matches I’ve ever played in, so I was in a mood to smash something or run around a lot. Instead I focused my energy/anger on cleaning.
It was oddly therapeutic (I am stunned that I spelt that word correctly on the first attempt) to be scrubbing and packing and unpacking and mopping and stuff. In my tidy up I’d somehow found a pair (my only pair) of headphones that I thought I’d lost three months ago. So I plugged myself into some very loud music and scrubbed away my frustration.
I can’t say I enjoyed it, or that it’s something I’ll find myself doing very often, and I’m possibly still high from bleach fumes. But I didn’t hate it. And now I find myself wishing I’d never written any of this because my Mum will set me about 343 cleaning tasks for the next time I’m home.
Until tomorrow, in that case, forget everything I just said. I hated every second.
(Two footnotes: Firstly, shoutout to @wordpress for saving a draft of this post when I accidentally turned off my computer, I really wasn’t ready to re-write the entire thing.
Secondly, as of yesterday I’m going to try to set featured image’s for every post, to improve the aesthetic a bit.)