Remember When Your Mom Made You Clean Your Room?

There's a reason for it.

So...
From the lack of blog-age lately (I've got a couple posts I'm working on, swear) you may think that I've neglected my blog and you.
Not so.
Truth is, two weeks from tomorow I will walk out of my last undergrad class.
Yeah.
Yeah.
Aside from the heinous amount of end-of-semester work this involves, this realization that I will be done with something I've been doing for the last 18 years of my life (until when and if I decide to go to grad school) has left my brain when not distracted by said heinous amounts of work-slightly comatose. Like-I have a heart palpitation every time I realize that December 4th is...like...soon. Ah! There it was again. I may or may not go into cardiac arrest at 4:00 on Thursday December 4th. I should probably take some Bayer for that in advance.
It's kind of crazy when I think all the way back to the beginning of my epic degree journey in the Fall of 2004. Lots of shit can happen in four and a half years and lots of shit DID happen. There were days I didn't think I'd be where I am today. There were days when everything was so hard, I thought getting my degree was pointless. I came pretty close to quitting. More than once.
Thank god for the people around me. 'Cause I would not and could not have done this without them. But I'll save this stuff for the day I ACTUALLY am HOLDING my degree. Because I know damn well something could happen tomorrow and the university could decide I need to take a Home Ec class before they grant me my B.A. I will be angry as hell. But I will bake that cake and diaper that baby until I hold that stupid piece of paper in my hands.

ANYWAY!
All this to say-no, I'm not dead. I'm just busy. I've been piecing together a couple posts that should come up in the next few days.
So, all this to say...
When I get busy...well, my room basically turns into the epicenter my madness.
My room is always a bit mad. I can never seem to keep it organized, but when I'm busy my, what I call "organized disorganization", pretty much implodes.
My room is pretty small. And, as you may imagine, is where I keep all my stuff.
I'd post pictures of the madness in my room now, but really...it's just too embarrassing.
Even for me.
Right now I operate by clearing just enough space on my desk to accomplish the work I need to accomplish.
Papers, books, art supplies, computer accoutrement, pens, pencils are quite literally spilled across my desk and dripping onto the floor. Dripping onto the floor into pools of hazard.
"What sort of hazard, Amy?"
Scale rule hazard.
What's a scale rule?
Well, if you put an extra long Star Wars TIE fighter [which is also applicable because the Imperial March of DOOM plays in my head whenever I have to use a scale rule...or it might just be the sound effect I make as I fly my scale rule TIE fighter through the air] and a ruler in a blender...you'd get a scale rule. It's used for, well, uh figuring out scale. I don't like it very much cause it involves numbers and remembering what side of the ruler to use and what numbers stand for what and how many feet and how many inches and shut the heck up scale rule I'm sick of your sass.
Then scale rule, sitting precariously in a pool of hazard on my floor (along with a metal box that contained X-ACTO knives (yipes) (that coulda been bad) (good thing my odd OCD had kicked in and I had taped it shut with red duct tape because I was worried it would open in my bag) (phew)) tripped me.
Or, I guess you could say I tripped over it.
And lesson of the day is: clean your room. And talk nicely to your scale rule.
Because even though it's made of plastic it still has the power to put a gash in your foot. And then you drip blood on your cream colored rug. And then you feel dumb in movement class when you take off your socks and have a dramatically bandaged foot.

Clean your room kids.
Or, at the very least...if you must litter your room, do so with pillows, teddy bears, and cotton candy.