Watermelon

My room is a hot mess.

It is just a plain old pigsty.  When company is over, I try to dress it up.  I see the poorly concealed looks of disgust (and a slight panic as to what sci-fi monster is hidden underneath all the clothes) and I create some excuse to set their hearts a little more at ease.

"Oh, I've been trying to get more in touch with my creative side, so I arranged the room according the Ancient Chinese art of Xīguā.  I just feel so much more in touch with the earth and nature, you know?"

I'll save you the trouble of looking it up.  Xīguā isn't some mystical medicine.  It means "watermelon" in Madarin.  I just copied it from the back of the fortune cookie that came with my Beef Lo Mein from last week (which may or may not still be in this room). 

In short, my room is what Sharknado was based on.

And so over the summer, I've been instructed to clean it.  Normally, I would wait until the last minute, but my mom has put me on a sort of mandatory time clock.  Don't worry, there's no electric shocks involved.  She just sends me a text at the beginning of the day with some easy things to do.  I just have to complete the three tasks by the end of the day.  If I don't finish, I don't get to eat for the rest of the week. 

I'M KIDDING! Please don't call Child Protective Services.  I need my parents to pay for my college tuition and they can't do that if they don't have custody of me anymore. 

Nevertheless, it's still difficult for me to get those daily texts accomplished.  I know a lot of people say that there's a satisfaction in cleaning.

"I just feel so productive and accomplished when I clean.  It's almost like hitting refresh on your inner free spirit."

Yeah, okay Snow White.  Why don't you and your happy-go-lucky animal pals come on over and whistle while you scrub my floors?  I just figured it'd be a great hobby for you since you enjoy it oh so much. 

I just flat out hate cleaning.  It's tedious, time-consuming, usually gets worse before it gets better, and, worst of all, it's vastly under-appreciated.  Something could always be improved.  Nothing can ever be right.  There's always a speck of dust or a stray pencil or an out of alphabetical order book.  Something.  I think Annie could come in and have my room shining "like the top of the Chrysler building" and someone would comment that it's not as pristine as the Bean sculpture found in Millenium Park. 

Quite honestly, I've come to the conclusion that cleaning is just a selfish art form.  You aren't helping anyone other than yourself and your own organizational issues.  It's certainly not the most productive use of your time.  And the goal is to mess it up anyway.  In order to take advantage of the organizational patterns that you've just created, you have to disrupt the whole system and ruin all of your hard work.  It's a Catch 22.  To be frank, you could honestly feel just as productive and accomplish more by donating a dollar to charity.  (The Save-the-Nikki-LaBonte Fund is currently accepting gifts of any amount.  With just five dollars you could help a starving teenager buy a Happy Meal.  I'll even send you a picture of me eating it if you want.)

I'm realizing now after rereading this post that I may be making my future college roommate very nervous and slightly afraid.  Mary, if you are reading this, I was totally kidding about the whole thing.  Haha.....pretty funny, right?  Oh, we will just have a good old laugh about this later.  Really, my room is as spotless as a dysfunctional twister board.

Maybe I'm not helping all that much.  In fact, I'm probably making it worse.  If I'm being honest, all I can really promise is to restrain the filth to my side of the room. 

I still have a lot to offer as a roommate.  I don't snore and I can sleep through a tidal wave (not sure if it's a good thing, but let's pretend).  Oh and I am also a certified instructor in the ancient art of Xīguā.

On second thought, I should probably just hope that you aren't reading this.