Being Neat

I used to be really neat. I mean REALLY neat. Everything had it's place, and my room was always, always spotless. My older sister was very messy, and I tended to be angered by her sloppiness when she visited, but it was nice to see her, seeing as she lived in Wisconsin, and I still lived in London. As for my brother, I don't actually know. His room was the attic, and I didn't have much reason to go up there, so he could be just as neat as me, or as messy as my sister.

But then, I became a teenager. My room is a jungle now. I certainly know people who are much worse about it than me, so much so that their room smells bad, but I do have a lot of shit lying around.

I'm sitting here, on the ground (I hate sitting in chairs, don't ask me why), looking around at the pig sty that is my room. There is a duck shit green Eastpak bag sitting next to me on my left, with my pencil case next to it, and my purse that I just used to go to Olive Garden touching my left leg. Oh, and some CDs Dr. W gave the class to listen to that I haven't gotten around to doing anything about.

And a spoon? wut. ..............I'll clean it up later.

I also have skirts, books, and magazines lying about, and a pair of socks, that should really get washed, because they're my white socks, and I only have like 7 other pairs. I have to wear white socks for school you see. On my right, there's an empty water bottle, that I will refill on Monday because I don't want to buy a new one, and the water bottle I have that is SUPPOSED to be refilled, which is a bobble bottle, looks too much like a buttplug.

The yellow one. 

There's a broken tape measurer, a water filter jug thing, and an empty glass.

*fills glass*

My bed is unmade, and I'm not going to even think about my bathroom for the moment, but for the moment, I'm not going to do a single thing about it.

At least it smells like pears.