Dirt swept under the rug
We all have our little secrets. The things we do when nobody is watching, things that don't otherwise fit with our personality. You know, things that I probably shouldn't share on a public blog.
But I'm going to.
I am a tidy individual; a place for everything and everything in its, place. But that doesn't apply to the junk drawer in the kitchen, my underwear drawer or Caches' kitchen supplies drawer. Each one of these drawers is a complete and total disaster!
Caches' drawer doesn't really need any explanation. It is full of his utensils, dishes and cups, he has access to it, and he is two. I tried. It is fucked. The end
My underwear drawer is pretty much exactly that, only I don't fold, or color coordinate, or use cute dividers, or even give a flying fig about that drawer. I tried for years to fold my underwear, to separate the thongs from the grannies; to give that drawer some respect. Now I crumple up all my underwear from the wash and shove it in. The tongs are making fun of the grannies, the purples are canoodling with the pinks and I'm pretty sure my long lost, most comfortable nursing bra is tangled up in there but I haven't dared to dig.
And I don't even care. Like I really don't.
The junk drawer in the kitchen is another story. I organize it once every few months, usually when I can no longer physically close it, even while pinching my finger in it while trying to smash all the junk down as I close it inch by inch. This drawer is my guilty pleasure, my dirty secret; it is my rebellious side. This drawer is me flipping off all of the people who need flipping off!
When I come across a pen that Ryan has left out from work I think, put the pen away in the top drawer in the office with all of its pen friends. But I shove it in the drawer. When I use a screwdriver from Ryan's toolbox in the garage I think, I should go put this back where I found it. But I shove it in the drawer. When I find a random tool that I let Caches play with, a thumbtack left over from Christmas decorations, when I find a dried pinto bean, an almond, a candy wrapper, a plastic bread tie that would require minimal effort to put back on the bread. All that shit goes in the drawer.
I have even put beer bottle caps and other assorted trash that I didn't feel like escorting to the bin five feet away, in the junk drawer. I see it fill up, I get annoyed when I can't find the things that I actually want to find in there because of the mess, but I continue to add to the chaos. Bit by bit, tiny act of rebellion after tiny act of rebellion, and you know what, a small part of me is liberated each time I do it.
I know that my house seems tidy. I know that I myself am kind of boring at the moment. I know that other people think my house is tidy. I know that other people think I am rather boring that the moment. But when I open that junk drawer and see that glorious mess going against everything neat and tidy inside of me, I get in touch with my rock and roll, fuck the world side and it feels really good. It reminds me that maybe I'm not so boring after all, I'm just taking a break.
P.S. You absolutely can NOT see this drawer if you are at my house, so don't ask. Well, maybe if I'm in the right mood. Go ahead and ask, but I make no guarantees. Even Ryan cringes to open it, and we have legally binding papers and diamond rings between us.
P.S.S I also eat peanut butter out of the jar. With my finger! Don't judge me!
But I'm going to.
I am a tidy individual; a place for everything and everything in its, place. But that doesn't apply to the junk drawer in the kitchen, my underwear drawer or Caches' kitchen supplies drawer. Each one of these drawers is a complete and total disaster!
Caches' drawer doesn't really need any explanation. It is full of his utensils, dishes and cups, he has access to it, and he is two. I tried. It is fucked. The end
My underwear drawer is pretty much exactly that, only I don't fold, or color coordinate, or use cute dividers, or even give a flying fig about that drawer. I tried for years to fold my underwear, to separate the thongs from the grannies; to give that drawer some respect. Now I crumple up all my underwear from the wash and shove it in. The tongs are making fun of the grannies, the purples are canoodling with the pinks and I'm pretty sure my long lost, most comfortable nursing bra is tangled up in there but I haven't dared to dig.
And I don't even care. Like I really don't.
The junk drawer in the kitchen is another story. I organize it once every few months, usually when I can no longer physically close it, even while pinching my finger in it while trying to smash all the junk down as I close it inch by inch. This drawer is my guilty pleasure, my dirty secret; it is my rebellious side. This drawer is me flipping off all of the people who need flipping off!
When I come across a pen that Ryan has left out from work I think, put the pen away in the top drawer in the office with all of its pen friends. But I shove it in the drawer. When I use a screwdriver from Ryan's toolbox in the garage I think, I should go put this back where I found it. But I shove it in the drawer. When I find a random tool that I let Caches play with, a thumbtack left over from Christmas decorations, when I find a dried pinto bean, an almond, a candy wrapper, a plastic bread tie that would require minimal effort to put back on the bread. All that shit goes in the drawer.
I have even put beer bottle caps and other assorted trash that I didn't feel like escorting to the bin five feet away, in the junk drawer. I see it fill up, I get annoyed when I can't find the things that I actually want to find in there because of the mess, but I continue to add to the chaos. Bit by bit, tiny act of rebellion after tiny act of rebellion, and you know what, a small part of me is liberated each time I do it.
I know that my house seems tidy. I know that I myself am kind of boring at the moment. I know that other people think my house is tidy. I know that other people think I am rather boring that the moment. But when I open that junk drawer and see that glorious mess going against everything neat and tidy inside of me, I get in touch with my rock and roll, fuck the world side and it feels really good. It reminds me that maybe I'm not so boring after all, I'm just taking a break.
P.S. You absolutely can NOT see this drawer if you are at my house, so don't ask. Well, maybe if I'm in the right mood. Go ahead and ask, but I make no guarantees. Even Ryan cringes to open it, and we have legally binding papers and diamond rings between us.
P.S.S I also eat peanut butter out of the jar. With my finger! Don't judge me!
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