my mom taught me so much better than this.

so i went home for 3 weeks. when i left, my room was in a fairly responsible state of affairs. now i'm back.

rather than unpacking my car, i chose to bring in only my suitcase and go back for the other things later (i had just driven 12 hours by myself and by the time i stepped out of the car, i was walking like a newborn fawn. not to mention it was ridiculously cold).

now i find myself trekking out to my car 2-3 times a day in teen temperatures, slowly bringing in the items therein two at a time. like a reverse noah. a reverse, lazy noah.

rather than unpacking my suitcase, i chose to leave it on my floor.

now it looks like it has explosively vomited all over my room. not just on the floor. the scope of the carnage also includes my desk, my dresser, and usually my bed (that is until i crawl into it to sleep, in which case the clothes become become casualties in the war of my apathy being waged on my floor).

rather than finding matching socks, i chose the first two i could pick out from the cotton labyrinth that has become my floor. they neither match in color, length, nor pattern.

it's times like these where i want to do a combination of things that include stomping my feet, slapping myself across the face, and shouting, "I AM AN ADULT! THINGS LIKE THIS SHOULD NOT HAPPEN!"

at least i managed to hang up my bathrobe.