Complacent Mess (Content with Cobwebs)

I have found recently that I have become comfortable in cobwebs. The subtle feeling that these strings of dust collect in the corners of my room, the one I so fondly call my cave. This cave of mine is finally coming together by falling apart completely. They say that the state of your room reflects your mental state and therefore the idea is that, if one cleans their room, they’ll be relieved. I find that the cleanliness in my room is generally regarded as something of a frustration. The mess and chaos of my room is the state of my mind which means I know exactly where everything is and why it is. 

Organized chaos is what I’d call it. Others call this state of being living in a mess. “You are a mess” they correctly judge, and I agree. The world is a mess, so why should I not also choose to be a mess. At least this is the mess I chose, not the one I was left with. The mess that has been created in this world of ours is the mess of many others and that means everything lost within it is nearly impossible to find. The voices of the present are muddled with the 1% of voices from the past. These voices are muddled so much so that some of the voices of present find it is best to cling onto these echoes of the past because they survived. 

What greater fear is this, than to lose a sense of individuality to the void? Those who are trying to clean up the mess of adversity’s past do make a difference though it is like cleaning a patch of floor in a filthy three story house. Sometimes the mess overtakes that patch of floor and is left for future homeowners to clean. In this filthy house of ours, we struggle to clean the space that allows for human rights to be a priority, for equality, the ever covered up space that gets cleaned every once in a while, and justice. Who’s job is it to clean this house? Many are content to live in filth and many others demand it be cleaned. Those with the tools to clean it are content to keep the supplies and be in charge of the mess without doing much to fix it. Things are moved to make things seem better, and maybe something even gets cleaned up, put away, or thrown out, but the house is never fully clean. There are skeletons in all of the closets, be careful where you step. Don’t look too closely, the very reality as you know it may be shattered. 

The complacency that has grown as comfortable as a warm bed on a cold day is pulling me away from the urge to remain moving. I wish to be stagnant in a bubble of a mess created only by me that I can choose to clean at any moment. But I can’t do that, I try to do my share and yet I feel as if I have done nothing. The moves I am currently making are very like me. I am a planner, and therefore I sit vocally brainstorming. Letting others know the ideas that have been shared with me, the conclusions I am coming to, and the best plan of attack. But my physical room, my cave, is the only part of this large and messy house that feels like it is only mine. Perhaps if I come out of this complacency, a piece of the floor in one of the rooms will be clean. 

About the Author

Erica Bentley is currently a junior English major at Arcadia University with a love and admiration for any work of literature that utterly consumes her and a love for writing. She is an outgoing and enthusiastic person, always looking forward to the next chapter.