I had made a list of things that I hated/bothered me. I doubt this annoyance entry will draw as much attention as my safety entry. It may sound very negative that I am making a "things I hate" list, but the other day, I tried making a list of things I enjoy, and I didn't end up getting farther than tight pants on guys and lying in the grass, so I figure that I am just not meant to write about things I like right now. So, here it goes. And yes, I realize what a long, run-on sentence that was.
I've always been a tidy and clean person, though I like having books strewn around, and I really don't mind a cluttered desk. What really bothers me is extreme cleanliness. You know like those houses where you can't comfortably sit down anywhere? Everything is just so clean. You can't even sit on a couch with ease because you are afraid you are wrinkling the blanket over the cushions or screwing up those stupid, little arm thingies. Not only that, but everywhere you look, there are fancy little figurines (dust-free, of course), standing perfectly in place on an useless little table that has no purpose but to hold these figurines. I hate that. I feel suffocated; I can't breathe because this house feels like it hasn't been lived in. All houses should at least have some sort of mess, whether it be a few glasses lying around, magazines, books, or CDs; even unorderly couch cushions would be somewhat of a relief. But, oh no, these scary-clean houses just can't have that.
Last year, I was at an apartment that was just like this. I felt so uncomfortable. I was sitting on a perfect couch with perfectly aligned figurines beside it when the thought came to me: there must be at least some dust somewhere. I looked around frantically: there was none on the useless tables, none in the corners of the room, none under the doors, and no dust bunnies around shelves. I had one last hope: there must be dust behind the sofa, by the television. It seemed like a very narrow and hard to reach spot. So, I went and looked behind the sofa (discreetly, of course), and to my utter shock, it was also spotless.
Oh. My. God.
I swallowed hard. This was just too bizarre. I decided that I needed to leave and never come back. So, in other words, you really can't host me if your house is too clean.
Then again, I prefer ultra-cleanliness over ultra-disgustingness any day. I just don't like it when a house isn't a home. Like I said at the beginning of the entry, I am a tidy and clean person. Ideally, the house should be clean but definitely lived in.
"End of sermon" (ha!)