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My Place is a Black Hole and I Tried to Clean It, but It Attacked Me First

So... I live in a small space—quaint, cozy, “minimalist” if you squint and ignore the pile of laundry doing its best impression of Mount Everest in the corner. At some point, I looked around and realized that my floor had officially become a “suggestion” and not something I could really see.  So naturally, I declared: Today, I clean!

And thus began the most unhinged journey of my adult life, as chronicled below:

Hour 1: The Hopeful Beginning

Armed with a trash bag, a playlist full of motivational songs on the iPhone, and wildly misplaced confidence, I started in one corner. I picked up a hoodie I hadn’t seen in three months. Underneath it? A sock. Underneath that? A spoon.  Dirty.  Of course.

Why? Who knows. This is a lawless land. It was then and there that I set a goal: Make my floor visible again!

*Narrator: It was not.*

Hour 2: The Closet War

My closet is not a closet. It’s really a portal to another realm where T-shirts go to multiply and mysterious cords gather like snakes. Inside I found:

• A sweater. Never worn and still with tags attached,

• A broken phone charger (possibly circa 2016?)

• A single Halloween sock with bats on it that glow in the dark (???)

From there, I tried to reorganize, but instead I sat in the pile for 20 minutes, holding a shirt like it was a long-lost relative. The black hole was beginning to whisper to me.

Hour 3: Things Turn Violent

I opened a drawer and something fell on me. Possibly a notebook, possibly a cursed object. Dust puffed up like it was sentient. My eyes burned. My soul wept.

I found a half-burned candle and six bobby pins that somehow fused together into one mega pin.

I started throwing things into “keep,” “toss,” and “WTH?” piles. The “WTH” pile is winning, by the way.

Hour 4: Existential Dread and a Snack Break Too

My "favorites" playlist had ended. My trash bag was full. I sat on my bed (which I’d buried under piles of old clothes) and ate a granola bar like a defeated raccoon.

I questioned every decision that led me here.  For example, why do I own three coffee mugs that say “The Boss” when I haven’t probably been to the office in nearly a year?

Hour 5: Acceptance

I cleared one corner. ONE.  Winning!

I can now break dance in an exactly 2'x2' foot space now, which is honestly a win. The rest of the room looks worse, somehow, because everything I forgot existed is now in plain sight.

I suspect my closet has grown stronger in my absence. It wants blood.

Conclusion: The Black Hole Lives On...

In the end and in full disclosure, my space isn’t fully clean -- yet. But it’s cleaner. I may never fully defeat the beast that is clutter, but today I survived it at least.  The mountain of laundry has been reduced to a mere hill. The floor is visible... in places. I found the other sock. Victory! Yay!

Will I finish tomorrow? Maybe.  Or, will I just live in the one clean corner forever like a floor-dwelling goblin? Also maybe.

And The Moral of the Story:

Small spaces don’t need perfection. They need survival — and maybe a Roomba with a sword might not hurt either.


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