After three hours of cleaning, the floor of my room is yet again visable. My closet is rearranged — the jeans, shorts, hoodies, graphic tshirts, and work out clothes are all back stock folded. Everything that is hung is organized by the style: tube tops, tanks, camis, off the shoulders, crop tops, plaids, zip ups, cardigains, outter wear, and dresses. My vanity mirror no longer has all of that clutter. The things I do not need are packed away in boxes. And my laundry is in the wash at this very moment. Everything is in its place. Everything, except that futon. I don’t want to keep it because it takes up too much room. Because my mom got it for such a good price, she refuses to get rid of it.