I don’t suck, therefore I suck

By: epluribusgeenum

Feb 11 2009

Category: Uncategorized

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My carpet is really, really dirty.

I’m not being euphemistic or perverted. I could just really use a good cleaning. I am, however, about to get all metaphorical on your ass. My ex-boyfriend has this aaaawesome vaccuum. Thing sucks like it’s no one’s business. (So in the colloquial context, it so does not suck.)

Everytime I borrowed it, I’d keep it for days on end. And I didn’t use it the moment I took it home… I think I just liked knowing I had it at my disposal when I did need it, when my floor got really rough and needed it the most–there’d be
loose threads, dog hair, bits of scabs I’d scratch off (I know, I’m gross), shreads of paper, organic debris brought in from outside–all this usually being covered by a layer of worn clothes.
And then there’s a few instances of bike grease that are stubborn as all hell.
Parts of my carpet that will forever smell of puppy pee.
Little remainders of my life, however messy it is.

What’s on your room floor speaks about who you are–yes, I am a bit of a mess. And if your floor is spotless, congratulations.  You’re anal. Just kidding! You’re just organized and I’m jealous.

As I’m looking around right now, I could really use that vaccuum. I know how good it is. It is not a normal vaccuum. It’s so good it’s out of this world and in a fight between the vacuum and a black hole my money’s on the vaccuum. My roommate Kara owns a vaccuum, but its power is no match for the state my floor gets in what with all the animal traffic and day-to-day living.
My pads’s clean, though, don’t get me wrong. The piles of clothes are gone, leaves and blades of grass have been picked up. It no longer looks like a hurricane lives there. It only took 45 minutes of my time, but a few weeks ago it seemed really overwhelming. Why is that? I make the mess, I let it get carried away, and then watch it build upon itself like the f-ing leaning tower of Debris-a. I know it’s gonna topple sometime, it’s written in the engineering. It’s inherent in the faulty foundation.
Oh, why do I do that?
Well, I did do something about it. But all the miniscule stuff sticks around without that sucking power. I could ask to borrow the vacuum, but I don’t want to, I don’t think I have that privelege, especially considering my track record with it. Don’t get me wrong, I treated it right. I emptied it of its previous dust, cleaned it carefully, wrapped up its hoses lovingly and gingerly placed its attachments back where they belonged, and took it on long walks.
But I also added more dust, different dust, eventually made it dirty again, and we never got too adventurous with those walks, which were only cyclical in nature and restricted to the rooms of my house. Such is the life of a normal vacuum.

So I know trip to the neighborhood gro’sto’ is in order. CarpetDoc, anyone? Isn’t that what it’s called? Psh, I don’t even know the name of it, and I’m not even sure of the price. But I know it’s self-serve, it will take a chunk out of my wallet, and I can’t leave it in my room for days because it’s a rent service. But it will get my carpet so clean I’ll be able to eat dinner off it. Although that would be a tad regressive…

And while I wish I could use that other vaccuum because unlike the CarpetDoc, ummm, it’s free. And because it belongs to someone dear to my heart (rather than this Doc, who is this Doc, anyway? I always feel so uneasy around new doctors, I mean they get to know your body before they even commit your last name to memory sometimes.) and the way I treated it in the past didn’t match how I would’ve liked to go about it had I actually thought it through. Sorry, self, but you are on your own to clean this mess.

I know the solution. And if I had the money, the carpet party would go down today. I’ll just have to wait and deal with it for a bit. If I had that other vaccuum, the ex-vaccuum, I could do some fair damage now, sure, and I’d give it back to its rightful owner immediately. But I suddenly feel disturbed by the congruence I see between the way I treat objects and people that mean way more to me.

I just have so much, literally, so many material things. I kind of disgust myself when I think about it. It’s not that I lose sight of the fact that I’m lucky to have all these things. It’s just that the way I treat them might prove otherwise. I just acquire them and let them be. I can’t treat my things (or the people in my life) like a collector, for god’s sake, I’m a 21 year old, not a 121 year old! When I was a kid I was only into a few things, and it showed: I liked to clean. I like to play Super Nintendo (Kirby’s Dreamland, come back into my life?). I liked listening to music and making mixtapes.
I liked playing the piano. I liked playing with my cat. I liked altering my clothes. I liked not having a boyfriend especially because I was secretly scared of the entire idea. And I liked building HTML. Who knows how Little Geegee did it all, considering she had 7-hour school days, but all I know is that she was way better at it than I am. Maybe it was because she woke up way earlier? Maybe because she didn’t let other things get in the way and she dedicated her time? But I’ve turned from being a girl that had it fairly together into a girl that amassed all this stuff and is now the very definition of a packrat.

At this point, there needs to be some serious housekeeping, getting rid of what’s useless and keeping what it is that I know I’ll want, need, and use now and in the future. That need for housekeeping is apparent in everything I do, from my closet, (which technically extends into the garage.), to my bookshelf, to my kitchen pantry (shout out to that 4 month old can of garbanzo beans!), even in my music collection (there’s no way I’m going to enjoy 10,000 songs even in the span of a year, especially knowing that at least 15/10,000 of it is *Nsync.); better to sift through what really gets me going and honing in on my tastes.

Let’s get real, people. I believe that you can like an insane amount of things. Hell, you can even like two things at once that don’t work together. I mean, I like poetry and writing simple melodies, but that doesn’t always work cohesively. I have to give each one their separate space to grow, for whatever separate pleasures they give me, before I can ever make the two work together. I also believe in attempting everything at least once, and while that’s surely admirable, to really find out who you are you gotta first figure out, after that initial attempt, what you like the most and dedicate your time to it. Add some moderation.  Make it feel special, not like a number in line.  I imagine how offended a friend would be if he/she were My Piano, even if I do get at least an hour’s play a day. “Thank you for your time, Piano. Mmk, bye, next in line?” Nah. Homey can’t play that. No more sending vaccuums and hobbies and people to the wayside for me. I gotta whittle it to a little and then put in a lot.

Begone irrational logic! Logic that tells me, “But what if I need this scrap of fabric later? Or these old jeans that make my ass look flat anyway and have a hole in the crotch, just what if it will be the key to saving the world later? It could!”

So, here we go.

Fattened-up wallet, old-school will, and sexy biceps that come out in bouts of vacuuming and heavy lifting, assemble!


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