Having moved back in with my parents the topics all flow into each other. Long story short an argument happened and escalated, it was about the state of the room which I occupy. For some reason the three inhabitants of my dwelling deem it necessary to pass judgement on the state of my room, regardless of the fact that they never have to look into it. I am loathe to clean it only because there is always something that seems more pertinent to be doing - mostly reading, for school or for myself, books, the internet, etc. The fact that my surrounding is a mess is extremely peripheral to me, it takes a back seat to what I deem important.
However it has been pointed out - albeit in the most barbaric way - that perhaps I should attend to the needs of my spastic mother and clean my room. This is where the inanity and the cataloging kicks in.
Part of me relishes the antagonizing of the family I feel I do not fit in with. Sometimes it's as if I were a transplant from some different culture. The only way I know I'm related to them is the ridiculously close resemblance of me and my half brother. Our attitudes, perspectives and goals are paradoxical. The way they behave - the constant loudness - it gets old really fast.
Nevertheless it brings me to the objective - cleaning my room. Maybe the reason I haven't gotten to it is because I'm not sure what I want to do with my room. As of yet it is basically a bed, a couch and a random assortment of books, a chair a plant, and a TV on a stand. Ideally I just need shelves....there are some in the garage and I will bring one in tonight, but that brings me to my dilemma.
How do I arrange the books?
Do I do it by author? Hardcover then softcover? By ISBN? By publisher? How about by edition? By genre? I have a tendency to make things overly complicated.
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