Cleaning your room is just like being in a relationship. You go do it on a whim or because some greater force is urging you to do so. You start off by turning yourself around and unearthing a bunch of stuff you've never known existed or stuff that you've forgotten about yourself.
You start to enjoy it since you discover new things and all that jazz.
You organize and organize and slave around and wipe down and rub and battle out dust bunnies.
You precariously arrange stuff and feel good once you're done but then you realize that's just one part of one huge room.
You still work your butt off trying to make it work since you can't back down now, what with the mess you've already created.
So you push forward even though in the midst of the mess, you start to doubt if you'll ever come out of this alive. You sniffle and sniffle and your nose starts to run and you just feel like if you could detach your head, you would.
So you're cleaning and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning and you're irritated since it's so hot and you're sweating and you're just realizing that you have so much junk and you make a vow to yourself never to let them accumulate like this ever again.
You're moody and all and you want to give up and just let other people fix it but you don't because this is yours. You started it so you have to end it yourself. Plus, the bed looks so warm and so inviting so you really have to get your stuff together and do your job.