I’m living in a perpetual mess these days. Not a disgusting mess — there is no rotting food in the kitchen or piles of pubic hair in the corners of the bathroom, but I’ve degenerated to the point where I’ve got mixed media piles.

I am a lover of piles. POS, my college roommate used to call them: Piles of Shit. Here’s my book pile, here’s my dirty clothes pile, here’s my clean clothes pile. But lately, the piles have started mixing different materials, and that’s the beginning of the end. For example, next to me right now I have a pile that consists of:

  • Four copies of two different issues of The Weekly to be integrated into my portfolio
  • An old pair of jeans covered with patches that I want to save but don’t know where to put
  • Andreas’ graduation cap
  • Some empty CD cases
  • A scarf
  • Some stationary
  • Unidentified crap

    That’s bad news. That pile doesn’t stack nicely or sit straight. The clothing makes it all wiggly, and the CD cases are slick. What a horrid little pile. And it’s been there for…wait for it…two weeks, I think, although portions of it are from another pile from almost a month ago. I just step over it. I’m a terrible housekeeper. Oh, and I don’t cook, either. Unless it involves boiling water or melting cheese on something, I get frightened. I eat a lot of fruit and yogurt.