Dear careless closet owner,
This is simply not acceptable. These piles and piles of clothes cluttering my floor, and the shelves and shelves of shoes! I’ve seen you. You don’t have thirty-six feet. What do you expect to do with seventy-two shoes! I can empathize with someone who cares enough about fashion to need diverse footwear. Three or four pairs I could forgive. If these clothes weren’t strewn on the floor, I might even consider five or six pairs. You’re just such a slob! How do you expect me to cope when it feels like a war zone in here? How do you cope? I am astonished at you ability to pick outfits off the floor every day without going crazy. Messes shouldn’t be a way of life. You must know that.
My frustrations don’t seem to have much of an effect on you. When I dump your piles of disorganization all over your, all I get are a few swears and then all the things I just tried to force you to organize are stuffed back inside me. Even when I knock things down from the top shelf, or hide you favorite sweater, you just rummage until you get tired, and leave me looking even worse.
On the good days, when you do laundry, I get a few hours to myself. It’s amazing to see my floor and my walls, let me tell you! Wouldn’t you consider a few more shelves or storage boxes. They don’t have to be artfully organized, but anything is better than this! Honestly, I’m just hoping for some freedom to breathe and enjoy the cedar smell I had when I was young. It’s hard to remember now, when my existence is covered in your smelly clothes.
The other day I saw you watching a video explaining how to organize your closet. I got really excited! At least, I thought, you’re going to give me shelves and stacks some bins along my walls. The video made other suggestions too, which looked incredible. Cubby cubes on the floor to hold shoes and shirts, and hooks on the walls to hang up jackets and shirts.
Typically, I’m against things being pounded into my walls, but if it’s going to get your clothes off my floor, than please get to work with that hammer and make it quick. For years I have been bitter and grumpy about your messy habits because I thought there was not remedy for them. I assumed I would never be happy, that humans were naturally disheveled people who hurt all their closets. Not only were my assumptions wrong. You had watched a video about cleaning and organizing me! You were taking initiative! I was sure things were going to change after that. I remember that night, imagining what life would be like clean and fresh. I couldn’t wait!
The next day, you were awake early. You had a few trash bags and a bin, determination on your face and confidence in your eyes. All the clothes on my floor were taken out and piled on the bed. Then you vacuumed my floor (Oh, that felt so good) and disappeared. I was a little worried, but soon you returned with some wood and nails and began to install those shelves I had so often dreamed of. Two, three, four! As you started to fill up the first shelf with shirts and sweaters, I was so content I fell asleep. It was so relieving to be cleaned and reorganized, to be cared for.
Your snores woke me up. It was dark, and for a moment I couldn’t tell if I was awake or still dreaming. Eagerly, I looked down, blinking my eyes to adjust to dusk. It was horrifying. The shelves were installed, the door was full of hooks, but the clothes were scattered all over the floor again the way they had been before you started. A genuine sadness came over me, and if I could shed tears, I would have cried.
This morning, you rummaged again for an outfit, leaving me cluttered and sick. Where was the entrepreneurial spirit I had seen so hard at work the day before? Why did you give up?
Sometimes, I wish I could slam my door in your face and wake you up. I’m hoping maybe tonight you’ll come back and finish the job you started, but I don’t expect much. So, for what it’s worth, these people have been kind enough to published my grievances. This is your closet speaking. I know your life is so much better than this mess. Come clean me up. Please?
— Dan Morrell