When taking a bath, I draw stick figures in the scum lining the rim of my tub. I can barely read what I'm typing because my computer screen is spotted with remnants of eaten-over-my-keyboard snacks. I have no clean underwear so I simply wear one layer of clothing below the waist. There are five quarter-filled cups of water sitting on the chair I've pulled up to my bed to act as a night-stand. Several times a day I fling myself onto the piles of clothes on my bed and floor and moan, "My life is in shambles!" Then I take a nap.
I am not embarrassed by the facts I have just revealed. Most people I know are aware of the plain and simple truth of my existence: I'm gross. This is my outside life. Grime, dust and shuffling through waist-high dirty laundry are all part of the daily experience of my moving, breathing body. My outside life is important because it includes my limbs and the things they touch and wrap themselves around. But my inside life - the one that's less about my blood count and muscle strength and more about my brain cells, is more important to me.
I live inside my head. You could probably figure this out if you spent a few hours with me. I care little about the things that go on around me. My father shudders at my ignorance regarding current events. My mother shakes her head at the filth which surrounds my bedroom. My sister yells at me to pay more attention to what she's saying. I open my eyes wider and pull my ears out Dumbo-style but I just can't seem to let other things into my mind. It's already so filled with my own precious and countless thoughts that I ignore everyone else's.
I thought I could write about my messy outside life and then go into an eloquently drawn-out monologue - the benefit of having a self-indulgent column - about how beautiful and pristine my brain is. "You see the nasty and perhaps undesirable outer shell of Connelly but behold what you could have if only you looked a little deeper!" But upon reflection and rumination and 12 hours of sleep I realized that I'm really not that mysterious. My messy room is fairly representative of my scattered mind. I'm transparent. Not only am I gross, I'm boring.
But this is good; this is good for you. Let's transcend the selfish attention I laud on myself and let's inspect your life. Do you do your laundry every day? How about your bed - is it constantly made, with pillows fluffed and sheets clean? Do you listen well to others and offer solid advice to assuage their fears?
If the answer to the above questions is "yes," then you're in trouble.
No person's brain is clean, organized and content. If it is, then it's sitting in a jar in a lab somewhere, finally free of earthly problems. Perhaps I'm just calling you out because I loathe people who look perfect even when they're hungover, tired and anxious. I can't stand someone who complains about anything, then takes time to make his or her bed. Perhaps I just don't like people who manage their lives a little better than I manage mine.
Or maybe I'm calling you out because I actually want to help you. Believe it or not, this self-indulgent columnist cares about other people. I don't always assume that someone is a closet freak just because their room is clean. But I analyze. I'm an English major so I'm good at pulling something out of "nothing." You keep your outside life clean and put-together but sometimes you tear up at little things and sometimes you overreact to innocuous events. I know you and I know what's so clean and organized in your clothes and in your notebooks is really hiding something deep, dark and messy in your brain.
Yeah I should clean my room and scrub my tub. I should listen more closely to my sister and my friends and I should do a lot of things I simply do not do. I know this. I know that some things are wrong with me, and when I don't fix them it's because I'm lazy or because I'm scared.
Are you scared? Or are you numb? Have you ever wondered why you obsessively organize or why you need your life to be "perfect?"
I'm not suggesting that everyone bathe in filth and go commando. But maybe you could ignore the news today and instead listen to the headlines in your brain. Maybe you could wear that shirt you wore yesterday and be OK with being a little imperfect. I see so many people, uptight and standing so still with frozen smiles on their faces. I want to shake them and let them know that it's OK to be scared, sad, unsure. Making your bed won't fix anything, but acknowledging what's in your head could save you from making a lot of messes later on.
Connelly's column runs biweekly Thursdays. She can be reached at c.hardaway@cavalierdaily.com.
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