Confession: My House Is A Trash Heap

Well it only makes sense that a Trash Broad lives in a Trash Pile, really.

My housemate has been overseas for a month. She’s developing professional skills, making contacts… meanwhile the only lessons I’ve learned are that my housekeeping goes downhill fast when no one else is around and that I just. don’t. seem. to. care.

My bedroom floor, as previously mentioned, is littered with bills, books, crumby plates and discarded clothes. The kitchen gets cleaned once a week, ish, depending on how sick I get of looking at dirty cat food bowls. There is cat hair everywhere, except possibly under the piles of miscellaneous things that I’ve thrown off immediately upon coming through the front door and then ignored for anywhere between a couple of days and the past fortnight.

I’m trying not to beat myself up about it. I’m in a tough space mentally, feeling burnt out and undervalued in both my menial day job and my very sporadic freelance work. It’s midwinter, everything is cold and dark and damp all the time and I’m depressed and the sad truth is that I’m in bed more often than not and the housework just isn’t getting done.

Does it matter? Ultimately, as long as I have everything I need (clean dishes to eat out of and clean clothes to drag my sadsack body to work in) and as long as it’s not hurting anyone, maybe it doesn’t matter. But I know me. I know this is a warning sign, too, and the Big Bad Depression is probably already here and one of the other things I’m avoiding is a psychological deep clean.

And I’ll tell you how that cycle goes.

I’m going along, minding my own business, and then I get hit with this creeping sense that nothing that I do really matters.
Which means that I either need to recalibrate my own sense of self-worth, or I need to address some way in which I’m falling short of my own expectations.
But if nothing that I do really matters, then what’s the point of doing anything?
So I don’t clean. Or write, or create, or see friends, or turn up to work on time (thanks for pointing that out, Manager, and making me feel so much fucking better about it!).
And then I think ‘I’m not healthy right now, I need to work out how to get better.’
And then I think ‘but I have to get the house spotless and perfectly organised first.’
And as long as the house isn’t spotless and perfectly organised, I can’t move on to the mental tune-up.
And as long as I feel as though nothing I do really matters, the house won’t be spotless and perfectly organised.

Lather, rinse, repeat. Wallow.


And it’s so easy to wallow, when the weather is shit and bed is so comfy and the cat is snuggly and TV has gotten so good but I also want to stop. I want to get out of bed before midday. I want clean laundry and a bed with actual sheets on it instead of just a mattress protector and a doona and I want fewer tiny piles of miscellaneous crap on every flat surface. And I want to be making things and writing and finishing what I start and reading books. Taking my meds on time. Cooking actual meals with nutrients in them. Spending time in places other than my work and my bedroom.

And I know that feeling like my life has purpose and value makes all of those little maintenance jobs–food and meds and clean undies–so much easier so I just need to get started on the big work.

So let’s end this on a positive, or at least proactive, note.

Note to self:

you can take the time to work out what’s hurting you

you can take the time to work out what will make you healthy

you can take the time to find your own value again

you are not failing

you matter


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