My room is still a mess.

I don’t know how many days I’ve stayed inside, but it’s been heaps. I don’t count the days because I’m not trying to be influencer. I’m not posting stories with the STAY AT HOME button.

Because how am I meant to take pictures when my room is a mess.

I haven’t seen the floor in months. I keep stepping on clothes and more clothes and random magazines to get to my bed. There’s 300 dollar boots in the corner that I’m scared will get scratched if I keep dumping my stuff on the floor.

But I don’t put them in their box.

I try to find socks in the wreckage but pull out patterned mini dresses I’ve worn once and old, tiny graphic t-shirts that I was bought when I was 14.

How much money do all these clothes add up to? How much money would I have if I went back in time and didn’t buy these useless clothes? Would the number my bank account increase? Or would it still be low, because instead of buying those clothes I bought some other stupid clothes.

There’s $2 on the floor. 

I want a Slurpee.

I feel like Filo pastry. Unstable and about to fall apart and crumble, any second now. My skin is flaky too. None of my half used, janky moisturisers can save me. I think I have a Korean sheet face mask on my floor.

But my room is still a mess.

I should really clean it up. Chuck away all my stuff and become a minimalist. Dust my fake houseplant and change my gross sheets.

Wait. I just found my onesie. 

This has changed my isolation game. I put it on and show my boyfriend. He thinks it sucks.

In all this, my room is still a mess. 

Maybe I’ll clean it next time.