First of all, I am messy. Very very messy. One of the sloppiest people you'll ever meet. I hate it. I'm embarassed about it. It makes me depressed, even, sometimes: I see it as tangible proof that I do not have my shit together. And the thing about messes is, they seem to grow exponentially. The bigger the mess is, the bigger it will get, and fast. For instance: last night, at midnight, I took a shower. When I got out, I just dropped my bathrobe and towel on the bedroom floor. Just dropped them on the floor! Sometimes, if I'm running late for something (which is always), I'll leave it on the bed until I get home. But I wasn't running late for anything! I was going to bed! But my floor was so messy already, that the added robe and towel changed the situation very little.
That's the thing. If my place is already clean, then it bothers me more to leave something somewhere it doesn't belong. Here's where England comes in: in England, I lived in a residence hall, and every Wednesday a lady would come in to clean (...TO CLEAN!) my room. She would Hoover (that means "vacuum") the floor, and clean my bathroom. Oh, that's right, I had my own bathroom, with shower and everything, all to myself. Also she would take my dirty sheets away and leave clean ones.
So because of this kind lady, my room stayed clean ALL TERM. It had to be tidy when she came, and she came every week, so I was really good about it and so proud of myself and so hopeful that I could become a neat person if I really tried, but I can't. I try to have my friend Henky over every Thursday so that I have to clean for her, but she doesn't make it every week, and most of the time I don't get the place clean, anyway -- merely acceptable, if that. Henky already knows that I'm dirty; hell, she lived with me for a year.
I started writing this entry like an hour ago and I can't remember what my point was and it's stupid and boring like your FACE so I'm done.