Things I realized in the process of restoring order into my room in an effort to make it a hospitable, sanitary place to live in once more:
I have a lot of reading to do, still. I mean, for class. I haven’t been keeping well as much as I should. Something about reading being labelled as “required” makes it seem so daunting — even with the occassional Sartre and Camus thrown in.
Kalay’s Lit program is so damn good if you keep up with the reading lists. The professors are veterans from UP and ADMU, some of them from the war. Half-kidding.
It amazes me how I feel at my best if and only if my room is in order. Maybe I have repressed OCD. Have always made it seem – or maybe I am, really – laidback and irresponsible in that cutesy way but I must say I feel all anxiety slipping away from my bones everytime I organize things.
My closet? Color coordinated. Even managed to train our helper in keeping this up since it irks me whenever she just hangs stuff in there ignorant of my pathological desire to have this little black dress next to my favorite black sweatshirt followed by my (apparently) vast collection of gray tops.
My bedside bookshelf? Arranged according to genre: Phil Lit, the Palanca anthologies serving as the focal point. Then, a pile of classics I have been meaning to peruse. Then, Hawking and Ferris, all Sciencey and stuff. The autographed copy of Abad’s Habit of Shores I loaned from the lib leans on the previous piles, with Neruda and Whitman. After this, grouped together by my tendency to bring together the most random people into a shindig: Nietzsche, Nabokov, Barthes. Last, two separate piles of bond paper – a photocopy of a poetry-writing manual a professor gave me, and then, err, the Koran. Don’t ask why.
It’s now ten minutes to 7 and I am supposedly lacing up for a run. Realized leaving this room in shambles, a state it has been in for days since I got caught up in tests and reports and sheer exhaustion to give a damn, would not be possible tonight. I have to read an entire unit on African literature tonight and focus would not be possible unless I start putting things back to where they belong.
One text message received. Semi heart attack. Shall not elaborate for I have yet to arrive at a decision on how to interpret specific person’s.. err, gestures. Best friend says it’s obvious and I should probably believe him since he’s a guy and he has shown same gestures in the remote past one way or another, but I don’t think I want to make a decision on how to take gestures in question just yet. Hmm.
Besides, I’m leaving.
Should probably get back to fixing room up. Then shoot coffee like it’s vodka, run at least three kilometers to not wear self out completely, shower, light up aromatherapy candles, play some Botti, then study.
Good plan. Let’s get on it.