Someday I'll be a grown-up. Maybe.

Lupe and I were talking today about adulthood and growing-up, specifically the subject of cleaning.

I am probably the worst cleaner in the history of cleaning. Cavemen had better cleaning skills than I do. They were going about their caveman days, probably using a corner in their caveman caves as a toilet, and their living space was more clean than mine.


So it is plain to see that wherever I inhabit on my own, it will be very, very messy all the fucking time.

That is, if I'm not living in a box.

So, whilst Lupe and I were discussing this, I told her she would have to clean the bedroom, or else we would never find anything and it would be completely uninhabitable and we would have to live in the living room, which incidentally is not meant to be slept in.


Oddly, this inability to clean doesn't really span to the rest of the house (except the bathroom, because I try to keep my time in there to a minimum). I keep the living room and kitchen in my own home fairly decent (and by decent I mean you can see the floor). It's just my room that is dangerous/disgusting/horrible to look at. I'm a little frightened that there is something living under my bed, and that it isn't one of my two asshole cats.
I remember one time, I was very thirsty. I wanted a glass of milk. It was four o'clock in the morning, and I wanted milk. Damn it, there was nothing that was going to keep me from my milk.
So I ventured forth, unafraid of the dark or of the rapists and vandals and other n'er do wells lurking in my home, waiting to jump out of the dark and attack me and use my intestines as a jump rope. It was just me, and the kitchen, and milk. It was like there was some kind of race, except I didn't actually run anywhere. I felt like I needed to, but I didn't, because I was tired.

When I finally got to the kitchen, I was very excited. You wouldn't have been able to see it in my face, but inside I was about to explode from success and happiness.


I drank my first glass, and then I decided 'why not?' and poured another glass to take with me to bed. Little did I know that that milk would turn not into a delicious beverage for nighttime thirstiness, it would turn into an instrument for pure evil.

I fell asleep that night, milk still sitting by my bed, sirens blaring off in the distance, the comforting hum of street lights lulling me to sleep like some over-sized she-baby. I had totally forgotten all about the milk I had been so desperate to get, and did so for almost a week straight.

By the time I got around to throwing the disgusting milk away, it looked something like this:
It. Was. Disgusting. I had never been so grossed-out by myself.

So, it is plain to see, that I will probably never be very good at being an adult. Maybe when I'm living on my own and can't convince my mom to help me clean, I'll be more inclined to break out the vacuum every once in a while and the glass cleaner and eventually un-messy up my environment.

But probably not.