My room.

A small 10 to 15 square meters space just beside our main house. Separated from the house it was originally intended to be a rented space with its own bathroom and own sink, studio type I would say and has stood for as long as 18 years which housed almost 10 occupants since 1990.

Now that all of us has grown up and the room in the main house can no longer accommodate our grown up needs (privacy, individuality, mood swings, you name it) my parents decided to stop renting the rooms and gave it to us. Now my room overflows in meters and meters of wires from extension cords, laptop charger, speaker cables, lamp wires, etc. It also reeks of nicotine smell and crowded with hanged clothes and bags and socks and rubber shoes and slippers and books, papers, scripts, call sheets, scratch papers, pictures, cd's, and empty lighters, strayed ashes from cigs, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

The bottom line here is that my room screams of hygiene. It has been three months since the last time I swept the floor with a decent broom (not just kick off some dust out the door) and in fact, the glass of water I was drinking earlier already have Mr. Croachy inside just 30 seconds after I put it aside. I still don't find cockroaches under my exotic-delicacies-to-eat-before-I-die-list.

I definitely have to clean up. Lest I procrastinate again.