How I Became a (Slightly) More Organized Person

There's one thing I'd like to say before we get started. I've always been a messy person. Everywhere I go seems to wind up looking like an earthquake struck, or at least that's been the case for a very long time. In the past week or so, however, it seems a miracle has occurred: I've suddenly become organized.

How did this happen? Frankly, I have no idea. I imagine a "responsible adult" switch got flipped somewhere, but that explanation does little to satisfy my loyal readers, so I'll tell you one other theory: I started making my bed.

I realize that probably sounds dumb, but there are plenty of articles that talk about how making your bed not only makes your room look better, but provides a sense of accomplishment, thus setting you up for a day's worth of successes. Plus, when it's time to go to bed at night, you arrive to a tidy, comfortable setting instead of the disaster you left in the morning. Multiple sources claim that building a bed-making habit works wonders, so I decided to give it a shot. And yes, I just became one of those I-didn't-believe-it-until-I-tried-it-and-you-should-too people. Yep, I'm cringing too. Try not to think about it too much.

After that, I seem to have followed a whole chain of organizational habit-building, including the following:

• Maintaining a clean desk. My workspace looks better than it ever has, and for once I have enough room to actually do work while sitting there.
• Using a planner. I've never been able to keep that up for more than three days before, but now I find myself pulling it out all the time.
• Using a calendar. It's a big version of the planner. I've never used one of these properly before, either.
• Cleaning for no reason. Yep, I turned into one of those people. I kind of hate it. But my room looks nice.

Now, I have no business making claims about my great strides without providing photographic proof, right? Right. First off, I'll show you two of my roommates' room. It looks a lot like they way mine did a few weeks ago.

 In contrast, here's mine now. Not bad, right?

Plus, who doesn't love this bedspread? (apart from vegans, I suppose--I don't think they make "keep calm and eat salad" fabrics.)

Oh, and this is my desk. Also looking pretty good lately.

So that's it. I'm going to try not to gloat about how my room is the cleanest in my apartment, or how I'm mastering techniques usually reserved for Pinterest people. Okay, I'm gonna gloat a little. Here we go.

There. I'm done now.

I'm not going to try to push these organizational behaviors on anyone, mostly because I tend to react violently when people tell me what to do with my space. Instead I'll leave you to ponder your options, and maybe submit a humble suggestion that you try making your bed. See if you like it.

Hic Manebimus Optime!

I Graduated. Now What?

One week has transpired since I graduated from high school, and I have had one very important epiphany: it's really hard to remember what day it is when you aren't going to school or work every day. That is why this post is coming out on a Saturday instead of my standard Friday. I actually forgot it was Friday until it was too late. Go me.

Even so, I'm fascinated by the emotional journey I've been subjected to in the last week. This is roughly how my thought process tracked through the first few days:

Day 1 (Graduation): Wow, this is so nice! We actually did it!
Day 2: I'm going to take a day off. I'd say I earned it.
Day 3: I suppose I should start trying to be proactive now. Where's something to do?
Day 4:  Wait... it's Monday... NO SCHOOL! YES!
Day 5: I'm never going to see any of my friends again...
Day 6: There's still social media, right? *logs on to various networks* Hey, wait a second... am I the only one who didn't go on a senior trip? How come I didn't get invited?
Day 7: You mean I actually have time to pursue my hobbies now?
Day 8: Nope, cancel that. I work six days next week.

And here we are.

That said, I'd like to point out that I did actually accomplish some things in the past week. I think I'll list some of them for you. Perhaps it'll give someone ideas on what to do with all this extra time we've inherited, now that we've graduated. But mostly because I just like lists.

Things I Did After Graduation

1. Got a job (lifeguarding, to be specific. Gotta work on that tan. Actually, I don't tan. I just get less white.)
2. Cleaned off my desk at home. I might actually use it, now that school's over. (I had a tendency to do homework wherever I was when I opened my backpack--usually the living room floor.)
3. Cleaned some more in several other rooms in the house. Mostly mine. I don't think it's been fully cleaned since elementary school.
4. Yard work! Garden planting, lawn mowing...trying to make my skin change from translucent to opaque...
5. Learned to cook some things I enjoy eating (hard core college survival skills, right there. I'm going to need to be a master of making something other than pie. I am good at pie.)
6. Started writing another book (and no, I am definitely not one of those people who starts a hundred books and winds up with a pile of Chapter Ones. I'll cover that in a later post.)

So that's basically it. I was expecting to get through graduation and discover my all-new adult self, but much to my dismay I'm still me. Apparently there is no switch to pull to turn you into a responsible adult. I suppose the best thing one can do is apply oneself and hope for the best. I've found that persistence trumps everything, so with luck I'll get the hang of this post-graduation thing pretty soon. We'll see what strange foods I'm cooking next week.

Hic Manebimus Optime!

That Empty Locker Feeling

With only one week left of high school now, the end-of-year procedures have begun, and the nostalgia is hitting hard. AP tests are over, meaning the pressure has been removed from most of my classes, and what remains shouldn't be too hard. Seeing as I essentially only have a stats project left to do (really a glorified free-response problem), I've had some time to think the deep thoughts.

Today was locker clean-out. That's normally a joyous occasion, signifying the end of the work and a beginning of summer. It's one half of a cycle; you find your locker at the beginning of the year, and empty it at the end. In practice, however, clean-out seems to come first, and new lockers second. This is because the distance between clean-out and new locker is only three months, whereas the distance between new locker and clean-out is nine months. The two events serve less as bookends to the school year as they do for the summer. The summer begins with emptying your locker, and ends with getting a shiny new one.

My problem is that this time, the summer won't end with a new locker. I don't get to look forward to returning to old friends, perfecting my paths across the school and embracing my higher status in the school hierarchy. This time, it's over. This is it. At the end of this summer, I won't be returning to someplace familiar, someplace that has become a part of me through all the laughter and tears. I'll be in a whole new place, far from home, in a sea of strangers, trying to navigate the world I've been dropped into.

That realization is what led me to understand the true significance of my locker. This year, I didn't use it for much. In fact, I put my physics textbook in it on the first day of school, and didn't open it again until I needed to stash my lunch during AP tests two weeks ago. Why, then, should I be sad about letting it go?

The truth is, a locker isn't just a locker. I could've kept my physics book at home. Some would argue that I should have (though I assure you I have excelled in the class without it). I put that book in my locker because I didn't want it to be empty. My schedule did not require that I use it as extensively as I have in previous years, but I wanted to keep something in it anyway. A locker provides a sense of place, a feeling of belonging. It's your spot in the school, a link that ties you to the environment where you spend the craziest years you've ever lived through (thus far, of course). Having something in my locker made me feel that I had a place there. It was a sort of anchor, not something I consciously thought about, but something that was always there. And I think that subconscious stability helped me through what I believe to be my hardest year of school.

That's why it was painful for me to turn the knob and pull the lever for the last time, to take that dusty physics book back to the school library. When I walked away from that locker, I severed my last tangible tie to my school.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it's almost over. I never loved school, homework or getting up before dawn for swim practice. But this is the place where I've practically lived for years. This is where I've been through the good times and bad, growing up and learning new things, and trying to figure out who I am. This is where I met half my friends, and I know that there are some I'll likely never see again. All these things are integral parts of my high school experience. Those memories are tied to this place, and my locker is my slice of that place. It's a symbol of my identity.

So without a locker, what am I? In the past I've identified as a swimmer, a musician, a nerd. Those are all things connected to high school, and without that, what's left? All external sources of self-definition have been removed, and the next time I walk into a classroom, I'll have nothing to tell me what I am. This time, I'll have to discover what I'm really made of. And at the end of the day, once the dust settles, I can tell you I'm excited to find out.

Hic Manebimus Optime.