Ode to a clean room?

If KK can blog to a missing shoe, I can by all means blog to a clean room. Seriously. I moved into this house on August . . . 24th? Somewhere in there. I am proud to say that today, October 30, I have finally managed to move in. That is, my room is clean, and I have homes for all of my little knick knacks and I will actually sweep my room to get all the dog hair off the floor (that will happen tomorrow because tonight there is a party going on and I do not wish to interrupt it by walking into the room, grabbing a broom, and walking out . . . that would be awkward).

That said, I would have to venture that having a paper due on Halloween and having roommates who want to celebrate the night before is a good idea. I mean, if nobody was here, I'd be out in the living room watching tv. If I didn't have a paper due, I'd be out in the living room partying. But here I am, saving money and cleaning at the same time. Also, I have hung essential items on my wall, like my Moira pillowcase I got for my birthday when I was 4.

Speaking of that pillowcase. It was much to my chagrin that my beach towel was seriously worn when I pulled it out of the dryer this evening. You know how sometimes towels start to fray at the edges and they get all natty and sad? Well, this one is starting on the very unfortunate decline in that direction. This got me to thinking, I've had this towel since I was eight. It's about damn time. I am the biggest pack rat, I have a pillowcase from 4 and a towel from 8? I also use a bath robe my sister got when I was 10, have a hat I got when I was 11 hanging from my wall, and use a bed cover given to my parents before I was even born. That said, I hope that when I get married I get a huge trunk in which to put all these things. I admit it might be weird to have them as a part of my life once it is also somebody else's life, but I neeeeeeeeeed to keep them. Mr. Bear on the other hand, might just have to sleep with me and my husband. So, dear prospective men, I apologize. You can sleep with whatever you want (except another woman), just give me my bear.

I guess this is really an ode to life. That sounds better than an ode to a clean room. Well. I guess it isn't really an ode at all . . . But I like it.