In Which I Die Under A Pile of My Own Underwear

I'm usually a very organized person.
I have special notebooks and folders and compartments for my seven different school subjects, I keep my books carefully kept together by author, a bit of my soul dies every time different sauces or dressings touch on my plate, my closet is built specifically for the purpose of having a spot set aside just for dresses, blouses, jeans, tights, underwear, and sweaters. I like organization, I like simplicity, I like order. This luckily hasn't affected me too much outside of the occasional embarrassing use of a lint roller, but there is one exception that drives me up the wall day and night.

I

  CAN

 NOT

CLEAN

MY

ROOM

This literally haunts me my entire day. I wake up too early surrounded in rubbish, I spread some random rubbish on my face, then some more rubbish, I pull whatever matching rubbish I find nearest the ground on, I sit down at my rubbish covered desk and work on a rubbish essay I should have finished weeks ago, I eat rubbish for breakfast, I get on my rubbish school bus at 6:30 every rubbishy morning. (Why is the word 'rubbish' so amusing?)

When I say all day, I mean all day. All I think about in the morning is how much easier getting ready would be if I could see the carpet. When I'm at school I dread having to go home and deal with the mess later. When I'm home I just lay upstairs and try to ignore the mess below. When I'm going to sleep I kick myself for letting my room stay so gross for so long.

I really, really need to clean my room. But it's actually kind of harder than it seems. I have no storage- no hangers, only two drawers, no extra bins- but a lot of stuff. I really like stuff. I'll hold onto the most random things for years just because it reminds me of something. Everything in my room holds some sentimental value. Some of it more than others, yeah, but everything is there for a reason. Trash is usually used as a landmark for something I actually need to use. Old papers are kept just in case I need to put them in a portfolio. Failed origami all over the place to remind myself of how much better I've gotten. Old clothing bags kept as trash bags, empty nail polish kept as a reminder to buy new, old tee shirts to help me remember names, hundreds of books in case I get bored, old journals to inspire new. I know I don't really need all of this stuff. I'm sure that I could- and will- throw half of it out at the first sight of bug or blood, but until then, I just always know that I cannot clean my room.