Odd Things Found in my Room
I clean my room about once every four months, not necessarily because it’s dirty per se, but because there is no longer enough space to fit half the things it already contains, so cleaning usually involves me carting things from one end of the room to the other, and still achieving the same crowded effect. Since I also make it a habit of turning the bedroom into my quasi-workshop, where resin fumes, paint thinner, and photo emulsion abound, I also tend to sometimes get very bug-eyed crazyhigh from the cocktail of poison despite my attempts at air circulation and open windows.
In this particular incarnation of room-cleaning though, I have found some odd things in it that I don’t even recall having / buying / stealing, though given my terrible short term memory this isn’t all that surprising.
1. A sack of coal – either I have attempted to barbecue something here, or Santa Claus really hates me
2. A bundle of black chicken feathers – I think I got this originally for some obscure project, but apparently it’s so obscure that I’d forgotten what it is.
3. A collection of naked plastic trolls – I remember collecting these when I was younger, though I’m not exactly sure what I still keep them. At closer inspection, I realize that they are kind of pretty ugly, and might enforce the belief that trolls are hideous. (Some of them aren’t, they’re all just rather stupid, especially at internet forums, which are their spawning grounds.)
4. old Vanilla Ice CDs – don’t ask.
5. my old Quina Quen cosplay costume. Picture says it all.
Don’t worry, I finally got rid of it.
6. A billion bags, only three of which I use.
7. Several size four and a half shoes – because I have the typical tiny Chinese feet – but with half or all the straps broken – because I am an inveritable heavy stomper.
8. I have two bookcases in my room primarily for books, stuffed and piled up with far too many paperbacks and novels and hardcovers that there is little space for more, the overall effect resembling a dingy book sale at a secondhand shop. I found an additional three dozen more books, now all piled up on one corner of the room. Deciding which book should be consigned to the attic / garage sales / the salvation army can take weeks, so the attempt has been abandoned for now.
9. Eight yards of bubble wrap. With two yards already popped.
The nice thing about having horrible short term memory is rummaging through all these weird things I have accumulated over the months and wondering what I was high on back then.
