Messiness, thy name is me.

An extremely untidy person by nature, I pretty much spent my whole adolescent and teenage life listening, to my mother scream at me, to clean up the pig sty that was my room. Disobedience, being my norm, I hardly ever adhered to those frequent orders.

I'm still as messy as I've ever been at home, but I've noticed that when I travel, especially alone, I am freaking obsessive compulsive. Turns out there is some of my mother's blood flowing through my veins, after all.

I went on two trips this year with college. We were a bunch of four in a hotel room, an inexplicably tiny hotel room might I add, with one double bed and barely enough space to put our feet. Four college girls doesn't exactly spell the bare necessities in terms of luggage. So there we are, all cramped up in this tiny room, which we unfortunately will call home for the next two weeks, and I get this rabid urge to tidy the place up. So my best friend and I start to clean, stowing away luggage, folding clothes, picking up wet towels off of the floor, throwing away food that's gone way past its 'best before' date, you know, the usual 'living-out-of-a-suitcase' scene. So we finally get done, and sit back surveying our work. Proud of the job we'd done, I pick up my book and continue on the adventures of three young women in Dublin (yes, I live on Chick lit, so sue me!!) when I see a comb that's on the table, slightly askew. I don't know what came over me that minute, I lunged across the bed, jumped over a couple of suitcases barely escaping landing on my face, and moved the comb two centimeters to the right so that it would be in place.

The moment I did that, I stopped. Disbelief washed over me, as I realized that I, the girl who went months without washing her bike, actually moved my fat ass from one end of a room to another to put a comb, of all insignificant things, in its place!

The reason I bring this up is that I've been home for two months now, and only a couple of weeks ago, did I get around to cleaning my room. I can safely say that while the task in itself was no piece of cake, it definitely would not have taken the amount of time that I took on it, which give or take was about three weeks.

Here are some pictures to prove it. (Sorry about the quality, a very sad VGA camera phone was all I had to work with!)

Three weeks later. Not perfect, but awesome for my standards.

So, that's the result of three weeks hard labour. Translation : Two and a half weeks of procrastination and 3 days of work.

Oh, and I hope I didn't scare you guys off with the filth that I lived in. Just trying to keep it real here folks.

Next week, my monstrosity of a closet.

Don't ask me how I get clothes outta there. Its a modern mystery.

While I'm the epitome of untidiness in this aspect, I expect nothing less than perfection from myself when I turn in work at college. Having to attain perfection in a room of crap can be quite a task. And that's something I'll have to repeat ten times everyday hereafter, so I can stop messing up my room.

Can you see the difference between ME - 'The Traveller' and ME - 'The lazy slug at home'. The difference is truly phenomenal. Now the only thing left to do is find someone to sponser my travel so I can learn to be a tidier person or learn to be happy living amongst the filth.
Though the former is extremly tempting, I'd be completely satisfied doing the latter.

Now THERE'S something you didn't need to know about me.