hopefully, mika

or, i desperately need to clean my room

Dear Becca,

Thoughts on the smell of rain? I have read and heard primarily good things about it, but I’ve never felt all that attached to the scent.

It’s been storming a lot this week, which is why I ask.

The sun is out now, though it will set soon, and then it will all go dark again.

Truth be told, your envy might be misplaced. I procrastinate a lot, too. I have gotten better about it over the last eight years, but I still feel rushed even when I’m several days out from a deadline.

And tasks, especially the online kind, feel like the only thing I can stay organized about.

My room is a veritable wasteland these days. I’ve been addressing it bit by bit. In fact, just now, I took out another few bags of “things I ought to throw away.”

I would not call myself a hoarder, but I often collect things for which there is no room. Mugs. Blind box figurines. Vinyls. Magazines. Cards. Letters. Stickers. Washi tape.

My world is trinkets and treats, everywhere.

The more I ponder on whether or not I want to take up a Master’s degree as you have, the more I wonder what will happen to my room. Of course, I would clean it before leaving. I’m trying to do so now.

But the summer I spent in Quebec over ten years ago now (wild!), my parents moved my bedroom from one half of the basement to the next. This was on account of a flood and the fact that I’d soon be headed off to college.

I came home and it felt not only new, but weightless with possibility and other cliches.

Sometimes, I wish someone could just sit there and watch while I tackled this room. We’ve tried it before, you and me, over Discord. And it works to some extent.

It’s embarrassing to think of asking my little brother, though, to simply be in the same room as me as I deal with a spider or look under my bed.

In the words of Angela Giarratana, I need to calm down. I’m an adult.

This is my most disjointed letter to you yet. In my defense, I’ve just rolled out of bed from an unplanned afternoon nap.

Again, I’m an adult! I swear!

I keep telling you that I am going to be more ruthless with how I choose what to keep. Maybe I should be. But I like that I find things precious, as old and scrappy as they might look.

So, as I watch the sky grow more violet, and as another day passes that I have not packed or decided on which degree to apply to, I decide to feel a little less heavy about it all and let the clouds clear even just a little.

Maybe I don’t need to be ruthless about rooting everything out.

I don’t have to yank everything out by the fistful.

I can tend. Lay things to rest. Reminisce and put away all the pieces like a puzzle I was slow to solve.

hopefully,

mika