I am a slob. There, I've said it. And now I feel much better.
I used to try to make excuses for myself, but now there's just no getting around it.
Although I am a slob, I would just like to note that I am not actually dirty. I am not a fan of filth, and the thought of creeping, germy bacteria also makes me feel mighty unsettled.
Instead, my problem always has been, and always will be, that I have too much stuff and I'm too lazy to find a place to put it. After all, you never have to look for anything if you know it must be somewhere in that pile next to the bed. It doesn't help that I also hate cleaning. Once, I even bribed my older sister to clean my room at home by telling her she could keep all the change she found lying around on the floor.
She was $9.17 richer at the end of the day.
At the University, I was a slob-in-hiding for a long time -- always blaming my roommate or busy schedule for the mess, while secretly knowing that there was no one to blame but me.
But now, since I'm the only person who lives in my room, I follow the typical eat-drink-sleep schedule of second-semester fourth years. I am far from busy and certainly not so overwhelmed that I couldn't take the time to toss dirty clothes into my laundry basket, rather than adhering to my current practice of dropping them on the floor immediately after wear. The old excuses just won't work anymore.
I knew my little game was over last week when a friend unexpectedly asked to use my computer, necessitating a trip into what my mother refers to as "the lair."
"Sure," I said. "It's just a little messy in my room."
"Oh, that's fine," he said. "My room is a little messy too."
But from the expression on his face once he saw the piles of laundry, shoes, books and magazines masquerading as my floor, I could tell the two of us had very different ideas of what "a little messy" means.
So I've admitted I have a problem. I like clutter, and that's not really a good thing. But just in owning up to the fact that I never will be neat, I feel as if I've won some small battle.
I imagine that this feeling of victory, the ability to admit your demons even if you can't conquer them, probably would serve as a great boost to our newly elected president, George W. Bush.
Imagine the relief if Bushie walked out of the White House, turned to the press corps and said: "All right. That's it. I admit it. I'm really not that bright. I will try to change, but I will make no promises." He would feel better, and most of the country would as well. There probably wouldn't be anything he could do to remedy the situation, but at least he would have thrown the truth out there.
Examples of this phenomenon also could be pulled from the University community. Take the malformed, oddly rotund Lil' Hoo. Actually, take him as far away from me as possible.
But think about what would happen if this mascot stopped its pathetic gyrations, quit stumbling around University Hall as if in a drunken stupor and just gave everyone's eyes a rest for a minute. The majesty of this moment would only intensify if the plastic man gave a statement.
"So I'm more disturbing than funny. So my little act does nothing to raise spirit at all. It's my fault. I suck, and there's nothing anyone can do about it," he would say. The joy of University sports fans would be enough to catapult Pete Gillen out the crumbling roof of U-Hall, possibly launching him into an orbit high above Charlottesville. There's no guarantee that Lil' Hoo's statement would prevent him from being an annoying fixture at games. But at least he would have been honest about his shortcomings.
I am writing this column at my computer, sitting at my messy desk, next to my unmade bed, surrounded by shoes, clothes and random scraps of paper, as well as about $82 in spare change scattered about the room. These are basic facts about my life that just won't change. But I feel I've taken a positive, fulfilling first step in admitting these problems exist.
And I am comforted, of course, by the fact that at least I am not teetering around wearing a plastic suit.
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