My room is almost constantly messy. Notice that I didn’t say dirty. Dirty is different. I have t-shirts on the ground, not string cheese wrappers and sticky table surfaces. That would make me “dirty kid”, which I am not; I am “messy kid”.
For too long, I have been made to feel shame for the state of my room. Society wants me to feel bad. But here’s what all you company men don’t understand. A messy room is liberating. There are these small rules you’ve learned as you’ve grown up, societal norms, that you don’t even realize are being instilled in you. One of those is to always keep a clean bedroom. These rules, for the most part, don’t keep people from being harmed nor do they really do that much other than to establish a sense of right and wrong in the most basic forms. Your room is clean? You’re doing stuff right, you are not breaking rules. Everyone grows up with these rules that they more or less roll into their own sense of right and wrong and do’s and don’t’s that make up their daily routines. BUT, do you know how good it feels to break your own rules? To break with the norms that you’ve always lived with? That shit is cathartic. To be able to just break a common rule like that is exhilarating.
Also, if you try and tell me that it makes your life easier because everything is where it’s supposed to be, then you’re part of the problem. The only time I lose anything is when I actually clean my room. I know where my calculator is, it’s on my desk on top of the papers and under the hard-hat. Yeah, that’s right bitches, I’ve got a hard-hat.
My room is messy because it makes me feel alive and it isn’t hurting anyone else. My room’s messy ’cause I’m not letting the bastards get me down. This is my swamp.