My car is in a sad state of disarray, & I’m beginning to think it’s a problem.
There’s a sack of garbage in my trunk, a half-eaten McDonald’s snack wrap bouncing around my backseat, & 4-day-old, obviously-leftover potato salad riding shotgun. As my good friend kindly pointed out to me last night, the state of my car has crossed the messy-filthy threshold–it’s gone from a minor mess to a major disaster. My car is disgusting & so am I. &, um, last I checked, nobody’s going to want to date disgusting.
I’ve always been a messy person (as I’m sure my mother will attest) but it’s never been this bad before. I mean, yeah, I’ll let the garbage pile up in my backseat… & maybe I’ll neglect to toss out an empty coffee cup or two, & there was one time where I forgot about an almost-empty yogurt container for, like, a day. But putrescent potato salad in the passenger seat… well, that’s just gross.
It’s official: I’m a pig.
My car is an extension of myself–its current state of disarray is informed (to some extent) by everything that’s going on in my life right now… & vice versa.
One should never discount the validity of a clean space. I need to get back to basics–take care of my car & take care of myself. Get rid of the garbage cluttering up my life, kibosh the shit I don’t need & create extra space. You know?
Garbage perpetuates garbage; space encourages growth.
Oh, & if I manage to nab a man in the process that’d be okay too.