"Perfect"

As I have previously blogged about, I have recently taken on the project of cleaning out my room. Completely. After getting home from school and realizing there was literally no room for the massive amount of junk I brought back with me, I figured it was the perfect time to remove all the crap and clutter that have been consuming the small amount of personal space that I have.

I expected this project to take a bit of time, at the most 3 or 4 days. And yet here I am, in my third week of summer and I am still not finished with my room. Ugh.

Unfortunately it looks just as bad, if not worse, than when I first returned to it. The look of the room does no justice to the amount of work I've put in. While random things such as old school papers to hair bands to random clothes are strewn across the floor, bits and pieces of my life have been removed and reorganized. I started with the most important items that need space reserved in my room: my clothes. I sifted through my closet and large dresser, getting rid of the blouses that no longer fit, holding onto the jeans I hope will fit again someday, and creating a full box of all the things I never have or never will wear again. I think it's safe to say that I have supplied goodwill for the next month.

After the clothes it was onto the desk. The dreaded desk. No matter how many papers I shred or notebooks I recycle, for some reason there has always been an alarming, almost evil presence of school books, folders, pencils, pens, and randomness you wouldn't even think of overtaking the workspace I most desperately need. My goal in this was to get rid of almost everything, so that the drawers can easily be opened and the top is neatly placed with the pens, pencils, notebooks and my computer, so that I can feel organized and at ease. I want my desk to promote productivity. (Seeing as I am writing this at my kitchen table, clearly I'm not done with it.)

While the top remains the mess it has always been, the drawers have been emptied and reorganized properly. So then it was onto my dresser. Another check. Then my night stand. Cross that off the list. Then back to the closet, this time the top shelf. When all was said and done, I discovered my old easy-bake oven, a crap load of crafts from my childhood, pictures, empty shoeboxes and handbags galore. More goodwill boxes were stocked and now my closet is neatly stored with stackable crates in which I've put my supplies for college, next to the duffle bags I carefully stacked, next to the boxes of memories I can't part with, next to my small suitcase. The only piece of randomness is my mini-Christmas tree which is sporting my Halloween witch's hat, and that is only because there was simply no other better place to put it. My closet, for the first time since I can remember, is perfect. Yes, perfect. Just the way I would ever like it to be. Only thing that would make it a little more perfect is if, I don't know, it changed into the walk-in closet Mr.Big made for Carrie in the Sex and the City movie. Now that's perfection. So I change what I said – my closet is as perfect as it could ever be.

Today's challenge was tackling the bookshelf. Which sounds easy, right? You would think, as a normal bookshelf, it would contain only books. Maybe some cds or dvds as well, but other than that it's just sifting through books. Ha! I wish. My bookshelf was more than just books. It was, by some miracle, a neatly compiled mountain of books, dvds, trophies, birthday cards, notebooks, journals, and folders. I should've known it was going to be a nightmare. I spent almost all afternoon going through all these pieces of my past that honestly meant nothing to me. I found a binder from the fifth grade that still had my graded homework papers in it! I found a folder splitting at the seams because it contained all the directions to every appliance I have ever owned! And, being the environmentalist I try to be, it didn't help that when it came down to the notebooks, I went through all of them and tore out the blank pages to save them from recycling. (You know, first reduce, reuse, then recycle.) I'm fairly certain I won't need to worry about stocking up on paper for this next school year.

As I look around my room, I realize that no one can see the progress I've made. No one can see the space I know have in my drawers. No one can see all the papers that are on their way to rumpke recycling. No one knows that I emptied my "crap" drawer or pitched perfumes from middle school. And it's unfortunate. It sucks. Because I should feel better, but I look around my room at all the crap I still have to sift through, and all the clearing and cleaning and reorganizing that somehow still needs to be done and I still feel as stressed as I did when nothing was unpacked yet. I put in all the work and I still feel as though I'm sitting in a mess, trying to sort through more and more crap.

If only this feeling applied to just my room.

***

My boyfriend once told me that I was perfect. Granted it was over winter break, our first real separation from each other since entering this relationship, and we were still in that puppy love stage, where you're completely infatuated with the person and everything they do seems to be sweet and cute and perfect. I knew when he said it that it was just in the heat of the moment. But when I shook my head and tried to convince him that I am indeed not perfect, he simply shook his head, looked at me dead in the eyes and in all seriousness repeated "perfect." Flattering, right? That's supposed to make me feel good, isn't it? To know that my significant other thinks I'm perfect? Think again. Ever since the word stumbled out of his mouth it had been a dreaded fear of mine to realize that one day he was going to wake up and realize just how imperfect I am.

Well that day has come and gone, and it's safe to say that these past few weeks have been the proof he should ever need to see just how far from perfection I am.

It started with a letter two weeks before school ended. A letter that started out sweet and turned into a bitter fest when I poured every issue and problem and worry I've ever had with him onto the paper at 3 in the morning when my brain was on meltdown and I had Bittersweet Symphony on repeat. Not to mention, after taking the hour to write it down on paper, for some reason I thought it'd be a good idea to type it up and e-mail it to him right then and there. Because for some reason at that hour he just had to get it so that he could read it the first moment he checks his inbox.

I normally always write letters late at night. I don't know why, but I do. And usually once I'm done I go to bed, wake up in the morning, re-read what I wrote, then seal it, stamp it, and send it on its way. Occasionally I will wake up, realize what I wrote does not need to be sent (or ever read by anyone other than my own two eyes) and the letter is typically burned, shredded, or safely put away. I think you expected to see this coming when I say that when I woke up that morning I realized the horrible mistake I had made in sending that e-mail. Unfortunately with e-mail, there's no getting it back or stopping it from being read. By the time I text my boyfriend to not the read the letter, it was already too late.

He never mentioned anything about the letter. I mentioned it two days later, and our talk ended with my returning to my room and having an emotional breakdown thinking that for sure he was going to break-up with me. It was the first break-up scare I've ever had. Later I learned that he didn't want to break-up, he didn't think any of the problems were worth breaking up over. But the initial thought that that was ever a possibility has been enough to set me on edge. Since that moment, I've realized I want to be the best girlfriend that he could ever want or need. I wanted to show him what I was worth. I wanted to be perfect.

Two words: epic failure.

That letter was only the crack to a can of worms that were bound to be released. I upset him when I told him how I sometimes feel uncomfortable when it comes to his friendships with other girls. Seeing that we were moving on from the issue I made a joke about it, to show that it was in the past, we can laugh about it now. As you can guess, I was wrong. He was frustrated with me when I teased him when he was in town the other week. Again I felt like crap, but lucky enough for me, my love of large sunglasses was able to hide the tears that were welling up.

Then there was tonight. In which I took a joke he said and turned it into an argument, a playful one that is, which eventually resulted in a real argument and a discussion of why playful arguments aren't even worth starting. I wasn't offended, but I couldn't understand. I love arguing. I think it's fun. Not of course when it gets taken too far and feelings are hurt, but when it's all fun and games I see it as harmless. Joe on the other hand, does not. He asked me why I do it, why I provoke arguments, even just for fun I know they can turn into real ones. I told him I didn't know, but that I would research it to see if there was some hidden reason for those who love to argue. He told me he didn't need to hear the results.

When we said our goodnights and hung up, I sat there, and for the first time in awhile, I felt nothing. No tears. No feelings of anger, at myself or at him. I didn't feel ambitious to change anything or to go see why it is I enjoying arguing. If anything, I felt exhausted. Exhausted of having another issue brought to my attention. Another aspect of myself to work on. Another mess to clean up. It seems that all I've done for the past couple of weeks is try to do better, to sort and figure all the crap in my head and heart out so that it can be better. Or at least look better. But with every improvement I've tried to make, I end up making a bigger mess. I end up discovering clippings from my past that I haven't parted with. I find the insignificant things are taking over, and though I fight them, the piles are still there. And all the small improvements I've made are in hiding, for no one to see but me. And I'm exhausted.

I realized as I looked around my room, how imperfect I am and how there was nothing I could do to really change into the perfection I so wish I could be. I realized after cleaning up one mess there will always be another. And if I try to make my life built around no messes, a life of everything being neat and in perfect order, then I would run myself into the ground because it will never happen. And I needed to know that in spite of all of these imperfections and messes surrounding me, that Joe still cares about me and wants to be with me.

So I picked up the phone and called. I spoke just as I rehearsed it in my head. "I'm not perfect. I never have been and I never will be. And it seems lately that you find one flaw and you come across 10 more. I'm trying to change…"

Joe stopped me right there. "No. Don't," he said. "I don’t want you to change. Laura, I like you for who you are. I'm not going anywhere."

They were the words I so desperately needed to hear. To know that in spite of the drama, the mistakes, the piles of crap and all the messes I'm trying to sort out, he accepted me, and still wants to be with me.

My room is still a mess. But everything that needed some organization to it has it. All I need to do now is finish putting the rest of the crap away, and adding the final touches to making my room look and feel the perfection I want it to be.

I, on the other hand, I am a mess as well. I have flaws I wasn't aware of and changes I want to make. For my own sake. I can't clean up all of the messes tonight. Hell, I won't ever have all of them cleaned up. But it's good to know that I have someone who cares about me enough to stand by me in spite of all the imperfections. I may not be able to stand a messy room, but I have an incredible boyfriend who likes me for me, messes included. It's good to know that I can stop striving to be what no one can be.

And to know that, for me at least, is perfect.