Metacognition: Cleaning the radioactive wasteland that I refer to as my room

As suggested by the title of this blog, my room has for as long as I can remember resembled a bit of a swamp-like toxic waste dump. Some--my mother, father, friends, relatives, pets, and passersby-- perhaps I should say all, see my room and infer that, based on the habitat in which I choose to live, I must be a pig; they are correct.

I have never been an organized person, but also, I have an incredible ability to ignore my surroundings no matter how similar they are to that of dumpster; therefore, I rarely have any urge or need to change my ways. However, on occasion, usually when I find myself with absolutely nothing--and I really mean NOTHING-- else to do I'll "tidy up" a bit. There also come those days I find myself cleaning because my mother walks over and stands just before the threshold of my doorway--she doesn't dare enter--and looks me in the eyes with this look that says, "There is something wrong with my daughter", on those days I take the time to "clean" as well.

The thing is, whenever I do take the time, or am guilted into straightening things up, I always find some sensation of self-satisfaction, pride that I can at least fake the appearance of a normal human being. So, that being the case, I wasn't surprised that after I finished organizing my entire room I felt good about myself. However, reaching that point was no "walk in the park", it was more like treading through a tar filled marsh in the rain--no exaggeration.

When I first started I seriouslly considered just piling everything into the usual spots--under my bed, behind my bed, behind my dresser, on top of my dresser, in my dresser, on the floor of my closet, on the top shelf of my closet, in the corner so that when anyone opens the door it is sheltered from sight--but i decided that that would COMPLETELY defeat the purpose of this assignment--plus I may have been a little bored as well.

Once I had pulled all the clothing, rapers, and molding remnants of food from their hiding places, I was more terrified than ever. First, because I knew I had a huge job ahead of me, but second because the sight made question whether my mother was right, that perhaps I was a little sick in the head. Somehow though I managed to plow along til it was done. The further I got into it the better I felt, and the more motivated I was to finish.

Once it was all done I did something that I haven't been able to see in years; my floor. No random articles of clothing, no miscellaneous trinkets, no rotting debris, just carpet--not a very clean one but whatever--it was great. Since then Ive had a couple days to experience my new habitat, I scored some points with mom and dad, and I gained a sense of satisfaction through the simplicity I had created for myself. I'll admit, it has been a couple days, and I am beginning to notice the junk accumulating once again, so I think it's fair to say that, while it was a worth while experience, It was not able to change me and my ways. Within the month I shall once again be the pig wandering the swamp-like toxic waste dump that I refer to as my room.