My dear old friend B is living with us right now. He's as tidy as I'm disheveled.
Now, I have said for ages that I'm comfortable with a certain level of disarray. I'm not a neat freak, is what I mean. I don't like it, but I'm ok with it.
My room is often a total tip. I get overwhelmed and can't even start. I see my desk covered in clean but unfolded clothes, and I can't start putting it away because I see one sweater that needs de-linting, and another that needs a needle and thread for a newly-discovered hole, and then under the clothes are papers that need sorting. That means I have to arrange my file folder and clean it out. Then I have to label file folders. Do I have file folders? Are they in that drawer? That drawer is awfully disorganized... I should empty it and clean it. Do I have labels?
It just snowballs and I can't start.
B is like a warden when it comes to cleaning.
I whine and stomp and sulk and beg, but he crosses his arms and looks at me sternly. He also encourages and points out my good work. It makes me feel like a third-grader, but I have to be yelled at to clean my room, so I guess that fits. B is also savvy enough to make me feel guilty when he takes allergic sneezing fits. Cunning.
I have been thinking about my future boyfriend, and how that would change my tidiness. I think it would change it a lot, because I am ashamed of the mess, but no one ever sees it but me, and I don't count. If someone who I was trying to impress were to see my room, it would be a lot tidier.
Hm. Even more motivation...