Cleaning: The Prequel

Before we get into any specifics about containing the materialism of a body’s year within fabricated structures (I mean packing luggage, not academia) let’s take a look at how utterly messy my room became and un-became over the summer. The following is not intended for the faint of heart nor the weak-willed.

The pillow cover was already ready for the laundry basket so I used it to cover the hair on the ground while I sorted things. Awful, right?

And so it begins…

Don’t click to read more if you can’t take it any longer. I kid you not, the pictures could ruin your week.

Mind you, part of my desire to clean the mess in my room didn’t stem from my inherited OCD (from my mother’s side, which manifests itself very differently from my own dear mum) but rather from work. I worked at Wycliffe over the past summer and for those of you who don’t know, Wycliffe is a Bible translation organization that emphasizes non-profit to the max: All but 12 or so of their staff are actually on a payroll. Everyone else raises support as missionaries at home and abroad via their friends and families. Consequently most of them live on rather frugal means; they get by on little and appreciate things a whole lot more. Having worked with these people all summer I realized living with less often gave you more of life, or at least a better perspective on things in general. The Trashing of the Trinkets began.

I did find some actual treasures occasionally, like the stick puppet a kid made for me once. He thought I was quite the dictator, apparently.

I did find some actual treasures occasionally, like the stick puppet a kid made for me once. He thought I was quite the dictator, apparently.

Eventually, of course, my room started taking on some semblance of “cleanliness” and my mum even dared to crack open the door to say hi. Slowly the floor cleared, the books were stacked upright and the recycling, trash and charity piles were sorted away into “out-blivion,” which means they were taken away.

Oblivion. I think that must have French roots. Someone check theΒ OEDΒ for me, please. Oubliez-vous?

Suddenly, the floor was clean (and vacuumed, hurrah! Vacuumed carpets feel so good.) and the bookcase was packed (mostly tidily, except for the borrowed materials area marked by the Bohnanza box). The desk, eh, the desk was not feeling the same way but it too would be cleared soon because in the process of cleaning up I had begun to clean up for my trip out…

The shock of seeing the carpet nearly made my father fall over.

The shock of seeing the carpet nearly made my father fall over. He recovered after seeing the desk though.

Pictures of packing and unpacking to come tomorrow! Cheerio (=

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