The word “sluttish” used to mean messy. If it still did, I’d be the greatest slut of them all. I’m so filthy, friends refuse to live with me. My room is in chaotic disorder, as though a hamster has nested in my stuff, then built an art installation out of it.
The floor is strewn with clothes, surfaces are scattered with bottles, shattered Biros, scribbled notes to self — “Write tidying column”. Draws burst open, their contents spilling onto the floor. It looks like Special Branch has just paid me a visit.
Books are piled so high, they have become pieces of furniture in themselves. Cups, multiplying at the speed rabbits reproduce, contain various biological experiments. I would call it organised chaos, except I have no idea where anything is.
I found a book that will change all this: The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying, by Marie Kondo, has sold 1.5m copies in Japan. In the United States it has become a hipster sensation (because even tidying can seem cool if done with a sense of kitsch).
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