Cleaning Day With Will Smith

When I lived at my parent’s house, I was so above cleaning my room. Between figuring out which way I wanted my side bangs to fall, breaking up and getting back together with my high school boyfriend every other week, and working at Jokers Fun House Arcade for what could have been considered slave labor, I just couldn’t seem to find the time. I had more important things to do than to place my clothes IN the laundry basket.  I used the same excuses I think every teenager used, and my dad used the same responses that millions of dads across the world use:

Teenage Carley: If you didn’t come into my room, then you wouldn’t be able to see how messy it is.
Dad: It’s my house and I pay the mortgage.

Teenage Carley: Why does it matter if my room is messy. You’re not the one who has to live it in!
Dad: Because it’s my house and I pay the mortgage.

Teenage Carley: Why should I make my bed if I’m just going to sleep in it?
Dad: Because it’s my house and I pay the mortgage.

Somehow, these excuses lose validity once you have your own apartment. I actually LIKE having a clean living space. I know, weird. Why on earth would I actually WANT to be able to see my floor? It’s a hideous mustard yellow vinyl and I absolutely despise it. I tried to trick myself into thinking I liked it when I first moved in, because my whole apartment has a vintage feel, which I do actually love. The floor, I have fallen out of love with.

I have tried deliberating with myself over the whole cleaning issue, but it’s no use.

“If you didn’t come into my room, then you wouldn’t be able to see how messy it is.”
Not going into my own room and seeing that it’s messy is nearly impossible. It’s where I sleep, and I can’t sleep if my laundry basket is erupting like Mount Vesuvius. Do your laundry.

“Why does it matter if my room is messy. You’re not the one who has to live it in!”
Why yes, yes I am. I pay the rent.  I live here.  MUST….CLEAN…NOW!

“Why should I make my bed if I’m just going to sleep in it?”
Okay, I don’t have an answer to this one. Teenage subconscious, you win..

Saturday Morning Blake left for rugby around 8:00 in the morning. After he left, I swung my feet out of bed, stumbled to the kitchen, and made myself a cup of English breakfast tea. It was definitely cleaning day. I had the whole apartment to myself. Spring must be right around the corner, because the weather man predicted snow for Saturday in New England. Alas, it was a beautiful sunny day, and I knew I could blast old school jams, open the windows, and get down to business. Instead, I climbed back in bed for another hour. Let’s be honest, on Saturdays do you really think I wake up at 8:00 am when the rest of the week I’m waking up at 6am? Nope. After another hour of sleep I woke up feeling refreshed and motivated, and the fact that I was ready to get out of bed had nothing to do with the fact that my landlords were moving old furniture out of the garage directly below my apartment. That must have been a coincidence…

I slipped into some gym shorts, and a scrubby college Spring Fling shirt that I would never wear in public, in fear of unemployment forever. I had a hankering for old school beats, and found the perfect mix on my music website addiction, 8tracks. (Sidenote – If you haven’t yet discovered 8tracks, you must go there. Immediately. Drop what you’re doing, put down your iPod shuffle, log out of Pandora, and go to 8tracks. If you need somewhere to start, you can go to my 8tracks profile, http://8tracks.com/cebarton). 8tracks is a website where thousands of people create mixes and publish them for the world to listen to. This was how Blake and I stayed connected when we were doing the whole distance thing,  and at that time I also happened to be studying for my Praxis education exam, so a few of my mixes are acoustic, lovey dovey songs. You can search key words, artists, even moods. That means, if you feel like getting up and dancing, you can totally search “Teach Me How To Dougie”. If you do search that, come teach it to me. I’ll teach you how to do the superman dance. We’ll be buds.

Once I started getting into the groove, it was no time before my apartment was clean, and I was chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool.

"Yo, Homes, smell ya later!"

I even made my bed.