You can pretty much take the title at face value; this week I've been rearranging/clearing/sorting my room. Admittedly I could try harder, liiiiiike instead of doing half the things I've done this past week I could have spent the entire time cleaning up &c &c, but you know me. I don't like change.
It's been quite the journey of discovery. Most of the detritus in my room as a whole is arranged in layers, or Strati, coincidentally the name of one of my favourite albums ever. In fact, the initial move to clean up was based on my losing of two vitally important and imported artifacts, the 2003 Gameboy Advance release of Fire Emblem, imported just after its American debut in early February, and the aforementioned Strati, Stemage's debut solo album of 2006. With the safe return of these two, progress has ground slowly to a bit of a halt, but upon my own mother's threats will resume with gusto in the morning.
I like to stack things. As a recovering Tetris-addict, I love stacking things. Thing is though, as I stack all my belongings, they (arguably thankfully) don't disappear when lines form. Instead they teeter menacingly so I begin a new pile and often mix piles together when they inevitably fall. Right now from my seat I can see a stack of music, shoes, lumberjack shirts and bags. Y'know, Christmas present bags. Not to mention the pile of all my old school books under the desk. Oh yes. Unless I specifically need or want to, there are no magical "Hey! Look at this book from year 8!" moments, thanks to my tight organisational scheme. I'm not getting rid of them, but I don't need them on show either. There are two stacks, at least 40 books deep each if not more. I'm still waiting for a long piece to come down.
Rearranging drawers has formed the most part of this operation so far, and a great deal of history has been uncovered in doing so! As usual, instead of actually throwing anything out, I'm just restacking the existing contents and leaving it at that. Seeing as I'm keeping everything anyway, there's no point in doing anything else, right? Right. Because I'm allowing my belongings to remain in their original states almost, I can track back to when they were originally put away, and recall exactly what was going off when, and gradually recall who and what and all sorts of things that are all connected to the particular order of this or that there pile. Fascinating.
Also fascinating but horrific in its own special way, is the amount of dust that everything attracts. I have swallowed several pints of the stuff just over the last 4 days alone, some unique type of conqueror dust that chokes and blinds and still carries the smell of a former deodourant. Mmmm. Delicious. This ever-increasing dust cloud has been one of the many events that I have used to my advantage in order to slow and ultimately postpone the process of reordering my personal pit.
There is a bag for refuse though. Some things just have to be thrown out after all this time, like broken bike lights, pens that no longer work, rubbish...you know, the usual. Although usually, I just put all these things in another place in my room so I can keep hold of them, just in case. Upon further assessment, my room is in essence a gigantic version of Michael McIntyre's Man Drawer, (SPOILER ALERT) in which the unlikely hero of the sketch is a man with a slight hoarding compulsion, who is called upon to use his wild and varied items to...er, do something that I have forgotten.
Other than digging through piles and piles of books, toys and musical instruments, I also quite successfully rearranged the inside of my wardrobe, making it much easier for the unfamiliar (or just the familiar) to navigate. My suits have been spread rather liberally around the upstairs, as there's no way they'll ever fit now. Let's dive in to some incredibly boring/earth-shatteringly interesting/beard scratching factoids:
! Alongside my seven waistcoats, six complete suits, two jackets and thirteen pairs of trousers, I own forty shirts, including dress shirts with both full and wing collars, work shirts, ten that belong to dedicated combinations, and both black and white linen shirts. Not to mention colour-coded lumberjack shirts (three) with their own dedicated combination rules.
" I still have custody of Anna Proctor's red Ukulele.
£ I made a pair of Nunchucks out of wood from IKEA, string and sellotape.
$ I own eight rulers that are 12" long, and one that is 18"
% I have a drawer dedicated to plain t-shirts
^ I have kept all of my old pairs of glasses. All 12 pairs.
& I have a bust of Luigi of Nintendo fame, which I asked Nathan to make for me in order to enter a competition, but then decided it was too nice to send off (no returns policy), so I decided to keep it.
* I really do own a copy of Super Metroid.
()All the clocks in my room show different times.
Wow. Don't scratch your beard too hard now.
So there we have it. This operation will continue, at some sort of rate, notwithstanding visitors, pub trips, and days where I can't be arsed. I own a lot of strange things, and I'm not even talking about my Transformers either. I can see a Sega Megadrive from where I'm sat, the box proudly proclaiming its 16-bit Hardware architecture.
And don't forget the Bongos...
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