If a Cluttered Desk is a Sign of a Cluttered Mind...

NORRKÖPING - Jenny and I drove up to Norrköping to check out a school. She was informed at the last possible moment that she was accepted to the graphic design program, so now we're here. She's in class checking things out and deciding whether it is right for her.

And me? Well, I'm here...

See, getting an apartment at the last possible moment is not quite as easy here as it is somewhere like good ol' BloNo. There's a process and rules and lots of other things involved, which really just means I have absolutely no idea how it works.

So Jenny's mom talked to someone she knows and this girl, someone Jenny had never met before, has let us borrow her apartment for a week because she's not here.

It's one thing to stay at someone's place when you don't really know them. Maybe they are some nice strangers that let you crash on their couch. Yeah, it's a little awkward when you are sitting around, but maybe you can find some things to talk about and get to know each other a little better. Maybe make a new friend even.

It is even more strange to stay in someone's apartment when they are not there. And you have never met them.

I don't even know what this girl looks like. The only pictures in the apartment are pictures of her horse, which she clearly loves dearly.

It's a nice apartment. The size is good, the things are nice...

But...

It's still a little uncomfortable.

Yeah, yeah, part of the reason is the whole "she's-not-here-and-I-don't-know-who-this-person-is" thing. But the other part is that it is just so...

Clean.

The place is spotless. I mean... spotless.

Everything is organized perfectly and in order. There is a symmetry to everything. It's all nice and straight.

I know this is coming from the guy who puts all his CDs and DVDs in alphabetical order... but that's purely because I wouldn't find anything otherwise. Just too much of it. Overall, my things exist in a state of controlled chaos. I know where the things are. I know what clean looks like. And I do dishes really slow because I insist on everything I eat off of being spotless.

I'm not like this. Never have been. Never will be. It's not in my blood. I'm too much of a pack rat.

And now I'm terrified.

I feel like I'm going to dirty the whole place up. Well, to be perfectly honest, we already have. Not like dirt dirt. But it sure doesn't look like it did when we showed up. We've already discussed how we're going to have to spend the whole last day scrubbing everything to get it back into mint condition.

I type at the coffee table in the living room and there is a black bamboo centerpiece with four candles on it.

And I've messed it up. My computer has pushed up against it and it is definitely not centered anymore. And I think I may have moved one of the candles...

Uh oh.

I feel like we have broken in to this place. Like we aren't supposed to be here and have to remember how it all looked before we showed up. Otherwise... someone might know we were here.

Everything is color-coordinated as well. Something I could never pull off. I mean, it has a great look to it. But I just love random objects way too much. I can't go to garage sales or flea markets without being drawn to all the amazing treasure that people have just seemingly cast off for no good reason. I feel like I need to adopt weird things. I have learned to fight that urge these days and am looking forward to getting rid of most of my stuff upon returning to Illinois. But it still doesn't change the fact that I have a five-foot tall inflatable monkey (credit for that one actually goes to my sister).

Hey, wanna hear the new joke I just made up... to my self... while sitting here...? (Hmm...)

What's black and white and IKEA all over?

This apartment!

Hahahahahahahahahaha....

Ha...

...

...ha.

(Listen... you asked for it, you got it. These are the kind of posts that occur when I have writer's block and have spent weeks thinking about everything other than writing. Now you get to smile and nod and deal with it.)