Well each weekend I vow to maintain the cleanliness of my room. My one room. My 10' by 12' jail cell of a bedroom, with one closet by the way (such a step away from Oak Park's angels-singing-from-the-heavens closet), is what I live in. That's been the only stressful part about the move (minus being displaced from my navy boys, my favorite apartment complex, my belongings still stuck in a corvallis storage unit. So not much, as you can see, lol).
Unfortunately this is a shot of the floor. It's been picked up a bit. I'm proud that the carpet is visible. My dad even commented on how it got better (but this was after two gin and tonic saline drips, so his eyesight could still have been recovering).
Ahh, yes. My bed. Where I'm supposed to sleep. Usually I'll just crawl in and hope stuff doesn't fall off at night. And that cute orange chair, stolen from the That 70's Show set, is where I envision myself getting dressed in the morning. Yea, it's usually a second dresser. :-/It's been a couple weeks since my mom and I intended to put in the closet organizer. I haven't really pushed the issue just because my room would have to be clean to put it in. Besides, I've been having second thoughts about how long I'll be living here.
My first goal was out in three months. I then realized Uncle Sam took out more I wanted him to, so I had to push out the timeline: by my 25 (gulp!) birthday. But now I'm not so sure on that. I've been having fleeting thoughts about buying my own place. My dad had a good idea of just sacking away the money I would spend on rent each month, and have a nice down payment for my own place. One I could prime, paint, and prettify. Not too bad.
It's definitely something to consider. Besides, I have to become an adult sometime. Why not do it in my own place, after restoring the wood floors, hanging new light fixtures, painting the walls, and cracking open some champagne?
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