heartshape

I've been trying to convince myself that cleanliness isn't necessarily next to godliness and a little dirt actually helps enhance an individual's immune system but really, having survived our kiosk's opening week without so much as cringe for failing to scrub the small space clean or arrange stuff the way I think they're supposed to be arranged is a feat.I played quiet well in the game of nonchalance with the wet and grimy construction site, mosquitoes feasting on CBA blood, and too much solid waste not to mention leftovers and plastic utensils crammed in the same makeshift trashcan (gasp!) as my opponents. That and more would've easily sent me packing, shivering 'til I'm a hundred percent certain the whole area is thoroughly disinfected.

I could come up with something, not really grand, but enough to sort out the mess that's been invading our kiosk since day one. I could buy a kick-ass cleaning arsenal and wage war against molds, mites, and mildew. Or, I could cry, alone and defeated, in my room after a long and busy day's work.

On second thought, I could just adjust. And relax.Who cares if it rained noodles on the floor? Who cares about overflowing inharmony of unsegregated garbage? Or of cakes of mud on a rainy day? Or of the fact that [dirty] loads of money pass by my palms while I cook pancit canton or (gasp) eat tuna sandwich with unwashed hands (double gasp!)?

Me taking all these unsanitary part of life into consideration is like a meth addict thinking of giving rehab a chance. But really, the thought should, could, and ought to scare me but I feel pretty normal. Even I surprise myself when I try and succeed at looking at grime and then ignore it. (Whaaaat???!!???)

If surviving all these is normal, and being normal means being less of a neat freak, and being less of a neat freak means being more considerate of dirt then.......

Oh dear God I'm becoming BURARA???!!!!?????

*killing self now...*