Is Being Messy Actually A Good Thing?

Writing

Maybe this is just what I keep telling myself to make me feel better as I hurdle over the dirty dishes, shimmy past the week-old laundry and divebomb straight into bed after a night out with friends. Yes, my flat more times than enough looks like the scenes of an explosion, comparing it rather to a game of minesweeper, where if you place one wrong foot you’re slipping on a banana peel or a copy of my latest electricity bill which is no doubt overdue.

 

Ashamed to admit it, I’m rather messy, but aren’t we all atleast some of the time? Are you telling me you enjoy washing up pots and pans after slaving over a hot stove, or folding clothes after 8 hours at work? Exactly!

 

On the hunt to convince myself that being a messy son of a b*tch isn’t such a bad thing I bring to you the following points:

 

  • Messy could mean creativity, In a study conducted by scientists at The University of Minnesota, Kathleen Vos, psychological scientist concluded –  “Disorderly environments seem to inspire breaking free of tradition, which can produce fresh insights,”.Orderly environments, in contrast, encourage convention and playing it safe.” Have a read here of their study it was really interesting, it involved chocolate bars and ping pong balls, what’s not to love about that?
  • You have more time for the important stuff, who wants to tidy up when you can go on that date to the cinema, or catch up with old friends at a restaurant? Stop placing your sticky notes in the order of colours of the rainbow and get yourself outdoors!
  • Your blood pressure will thank you, if you’re a neat person, chances are your beady eye will latch onto even the smallest misalignments. It’s like once you finally finish brushing the floor, only then do you start spotting the microscopic specs of dirt you need to catch. So do yourself a favour and be messy, you’ll stop sweating the small stuff as a result!

 

Whether the above points in favour of being untidy are totally true or not, shouldn’t I still take pride in my humble abode (matchbox of a flat) by keeping things somewhat in order? Doesn’t it show a sense of care for myself and for anybody else I’m living with? Even if I live alone and noone is there to see my mess, do I really want to have a zero f*cks attitude towards tidying? Not really, for the whole reason we aim to keep things tidy at its core is to keep thing hygienic and in good condition, to place value on sentimental possessions and to feel comfortable in the space we live in. To do this I must show respect to the place I call home, or else I’m not really respecting myself.

 

Well, off I go to pick up some mouldy fruit from under my bed!  

Home: Rent Or Buy Which Is Best?

Writing

As I wipe a tear from my eye each month as I watch more than ¾ of my salary fly out the window towards the cost of renting here in London, I ask myself – is it all worth it?!

 

This matchbox size of an apartment, does it really warrant the equivalent cost of a very expensive bottle of Brut annually? I think not. On a salary so low I’ve considered donating a kidney and a neat little portion of the liver to the black market, I have no choice but to rent.

 

I’d love to own my own home there’s just no feasible way I could afford to buy a property outright. And it seems with the way renting is going, savings will quite simply a foreign word for the next decade of my tender life. But before you pack away your violin too quickly, I’ll give you another reason why renting is the bane of my life – the landlord!

 

Yes you thief of the night, if you’re reading this please note that I love the fact that you send your builders round at the crack of dawn to fix blinds I requested fixing months previously. I love how you put the rent up year on year despite the conditions of the flat deteriorating daily! And last but not least, I love how you walked in on me while squatting on the loo and proceeded to tamper with the fire alarm and ask me how my day at work was in the process. Ahhh renting, don’t worry, you’ll never be alone, your landlord is practically your flatmate! Who’s only nice to you when you hand over the remaining entrails of Mr. Piggy.

 

All I can say is – please God, let me win the lottery soon!