Do you know when you get that little pothole of despair that opens up inside you every time you walk into your room and see the mess? I’m starting to suffer from that.
Now I can be excused on one front, the boiler needs fixing and in order to grant the man proper access my bookcase has been moved and all my books are staked around my bed. Luckily, I’m not prone to needing the loo in the night, otherwise I might sleepily fall on my arse.
Other than that though the issue is simple. I have too much stuff. I need to purge. Yes, that’s right, my bedroom needs a laxative.
Why, for example, didn’t I throw away all those old nail varnishes I don’t use anymore? And why don’t I sort out all those cloths that are, as Elinor once put it. “trying to escape”? And I really should do something about that growing CD and DVD collection.