Growing Up

I cleaned up my room today. This is phenomenal and blog-worthy because:
1.) My room is (WAS!!!) the biggest freaking mess on earth. (Should have taken pictures to prove this, but too late!)
2.) The muck on the floor has been accumulating since April, and the floor itself hasn’t been swept since then
3.) The table and bookshelf were removed from my room a week ago. I.e.: all my books, cds, and crap lie strewn across the floor wherever they are dropped.
4.) There is dust EVERYWHERE and cobwebs occupy an eighth of the space
5.) I had the girls over less than a week ago, and their wedding attire, party attire, accessories, shoes, makeup etc… are still heaped up on my bed.
6.) My clothes from the trip to the “remote village in the middle of nowhere” (very smelly and gathering mildew) are heaped up in a corner. (The clothes hamper lies somewhere underneath it I’m sure.)
So yes, I proved a point no!? Anyway, like I said, I cleaned up my room. This took a rough period of about eight hours, with the help of the maid. Unfortunately, the completion of the whole task didn’t leave me as satisfied as I expected it would. Thus I shall label this event of “cleaning up my room” the first anti-climax of the season (The season, by the way, is “right after ALs”). Yet despite its’ nature, it did have its’ moments, which I will now go through in no particular order:
The old Love Letters: Now, those that sucker no.1 sent me are still inside that little pale-blue bag that I always kept them in, and I read them every time a long-lost friend comes over, dwelling on how sadly romantic he was etc etc… These don’t really inspire any emotional changes within me really, although I must say they are quite well written and should succeed in deceiving any poor creature in my (excellent) state of mind. So anyway, it’s not the rainbow coloured cards or the perfumed (gag) letters I’m talking about, but those secret ones that I wrote him, without anybody’s knowledge. The ones I wrote when I was so totally pissed off I could say all kinds of really really nasty things to him. The ones I discreetly decided I would tell NOBODY about. These letters are written in scrawling letters on pieces of random paper, presumably take from the dustbin, and they made me feel good. The handwriting makes it obvious that I was pissed as bleeding hell, but the words! Damn! You’d think I was twenty-six and not sixteen, reading that stuff! Ha! Okay, yeah, so that made me feel real good, but I won’t dwell on it, cus it might – just might – result in some unprecedented level of gloating.
Taking the old posters down: THIS experience was… different. I had long outgrown most of the artists on my wall, except probably Eminem, but taking them off the walls was very significant. It left the walls blank (after the imagination is stretched far enough and one ceases to see the millions of pencilled in rhymes and verses on the paint) , impressionable, which made me think of my mind as blank and impressionable, cleaned up of all the muck stuffed in there during AL coursework.
This brings us to the end-result which left my room looking cleaner, neater and actually bigger, and ME feeling all grown up. I’m serious. It was hilariously elating. I just had to share it!