The Mess I Live In
I finally got around to watching Frances Ha whilst waiting to ring in 2014 from the comfort of my couch.
It was high glamour here, let me tell you. Somehow completely wiped out from dashing around the frigid city to meet some out-of-town relatives for a delicious late lunch, I looked from my high heels to my heating pad, and promptly RSVP’d no to every invitation to go out into the world and celebrate.
I felt a tiny twinge of regret when I said goodbye to my parents on Skype so they could get ready to go out and join their friends for some festivities.
Actually, it was kind of the best.
As was Frances Ha.
I know a lot of people are probably sick of watching millenials try to figure out their lives and where they fit in to the world of adulthood, but I’m telling you, this one’s worth a watch.
There’s something gritty, real and sweet about the film and Frances herself is charmingly weird and funny and earnest.
Watching her try to find a way to follow her passion despite the demands of reality and adulthood is something I can definitely identify with.
And I cracked up every time she excused her slovenliness, declaring “I’m not messy, I’m busy!”
I say that all the time. “Sorry about the mess, I’ve just been crazy-busy!”
What I should really say is, “Sorry about the mess, I’m just really messy.”
Because I’ve come to understand that being busy and being tidy and clean are not actually mutually exclusive for most people.
The truth is, my tolerance for my own untidiness is just extremely high. And hey, I live alone!
I’m always gratified when people are surprised to learn that I’m a slob. Clearly I emerge unscathed from my chaotic little mess of a nest. I manage to get out of the house without trailing household debris behind me, so it can’t be that much of a problem, right?
I feel guilty occasionally. Something about “together” women having beautiful, tidy, organized homes seeps in to my consciousness, but then I think about miserable 1950s housewives and I revel in my freedom to do other things instead.
I’ve just never rated tidying very high on my list of priorities, despite my parents’ best efforts. As a little girl I’d be sent to my room to clean, and warned of whatever consequences I would face if I didn’t tidy it up, but no matter how harsh the threatened punishment, I would inevitably get distracted five minutes in. My mom would find me chatting with my stuffed animals and dressing up as Cinderella, which, to be fair, was my way of preparing to clean.
I’m currently sitting in a pile of clean laundry and looking at a phenomenally large cobweb as I type this.
I think being neat and tidy is my final hurdle into actual adulthood, and it’s just not one I’m all that keen to tackle.
Although I am going to tackle that cobweb right now.
That thing’s a hazard.
If you don’t hear from me in a week, please call an exterminator.