I wish I wanted to change. But I don’t. Right now there are dishes from the weekend piled in the sink. There are magazines and wedding invitation samples strewn about the coffee table and there is some red sauce crusted on the countertop by the stove. I don’t remember having eaten red sauce recently. A weeks worth of laundry is piled in the corner of the floor of our bedroom. And our duvet cover is basically campaigning to turn in to a golden retriever, it’s so covered in dog hair.
And I just don’t care.
I often wonder if one day the desire will be cleaner will strike me. I consider that this might be the exact day, the exact moment, that I become a real grown up. But what happens if that moment never comes? I realize that I might be destined to spend my life as a slob.
Luckily, I’m not alone in this. Each time we go over to friends houses we are stunned at how seemingly effortlessly others are able to keep their homes in order. If friends come over to our house, we need a solid hours notice to make it look almost presentable. And then, because I’m such a joy to live with, I act like I haven’t been the primary contributor to the disaster that is our home, while I run around frantically cleaning.
We didn’t grow up this way. Neither of us were raised in messy homes. So I have no idea how we’ve become the way we are. But more importantly, I don’t know why it doesn’t bother us.
I worry what this says about us. I often wonder if everyone else lives in secret slobbery until guests come over. I wonder if it’s just because creative people thrive in clutter. We are thriving. So maybe we are those people. Are you?