Squalor. Utter, utter squalor
I’ve seen bus station bathrooms that were cleaner than my apartment.
The current condition of my 8×10 foot apartment (”The Hobbit Hole”) is thus:
*Every dish I own is in the sink. Every dish I own has been in the sink since EARLY NOVEMBER. I’ve resorted to eating everything directly out of the can or box with plastic utensils. I don’t own a microwave either. Grocery shopping is accompanied with an inner monologue running “Hmm, nothing clean to cook this in…Maybe I’ll just grab some chips and a jar of pickles…Ohhh, croutons!”
*My bed is on cinderblocks. Which is actually an improvement. I’d been sleeping on the floor since October, when I decided that bringing home a 6′8 fellow was a good idea. It wasn’t. (bonus fun mental image: I’m 4′10)
*3 overflowing garbage bags in kitchen. One overflowing trash can in bathroom.
*Books, clothes and dirty sheets take up every available inch of floor space. I have developed mountain goat-esque skills to maneuver the apartment, (somewhat) gracefully bounding from towering precipices of clutter.
*Regarding the dirty sheets on the floor…They were so bad I honestly had to strip them off the bed. Rather than wash them, I just piled them in the middle of the room to form a little “Stinky sheet Mountain.” So not only am I sleeping on a bed supported by cinderblocks…It’s on a bare mattress, with nothing but an old blanket and a single pillow.
I’ve been blaming my total lack of interest in the state of my apartment on Seasonal Affective Disorder. I lack motivation to clean because I’m just a little depressed. No biggie. I’ll probably do it at some point.
I’m sure the fact that I’m currently drinking a beer at 8 in the morning has nothing to do with it.
Honest.