The Brooklyn Project: The Five Stages of Bedroom Cleaning Induced Death

Nesters, today is a difficult day. Today begins the horrible, horrible task of launching the The Brooklyn Project.

Today Brooklyn Bitch motivates to take on the war zone that is my bedroom.

With this wretched, awful, and fuckin' disgusting task, begins the 5 stages of death as we know them here at The Brooklyn Nester:

1.Denial and Isolation:
I will now walk out of the bedroom and sit on the living room couch. This is not that bad. I don't need help with this. This room is just a blip on the map of God's awful fucking disasters.

2.Anger:
This is my boyfriend's fault. Why the fuck am I responsible for cleaning a room that is shared with this pack rat of a man? What does he know about cleanliness! Who cares if half the items littering this floor are Winnie the Pooh^© sweatshirts my Dad gave me in '87? Who cares that I have an entire cardboard box filled with slutty shirts I wore in the 8th grade? This is that lazy bastard's fault, and I'm not doing this shit. Not now, not ever.

3.Bargaining:
Okay. How about instead of cleaning the bedroom, I'll do the bathroom?
Again. This time with bleach.
I mean, the bathroom may be like, 8 times smaller, but, as far a hygiene goes, it really should be my priority. Right? I mean, I can do the bedroom on the weekend. Actually, it makes much more sense on the weekend. Think of all the fuckin' time I can devote to it then...
Yeeeah, I can devote way more time to it on the weekend...

4.Depression:
This seriously fucking sucks dude.
I can't even see the floor.
It's going to take me days.
I am seriously considering torching my apartment and then uncorking my 500 caplets of Motrin IB^© and washing them back with a bottle of Stoli O^©.

5.Acceptance:
Alright.
This place has been a sty for almost a year.
I am a lazy fuck with an awesome apartment.
I want people to see this room.
Eventually, like a normal person, I would like my dresser to contain clothes, as opposed to the HDTV box that I've been using since Christmas.

I have a 6-er in the fridge.
I have 1/2 a bottle of nice port wine from my mom.
If necessary, I have Triple Sec that we use exclusively for cooking, but, at times like these I will be willing to make exceptions.

Baby steps off the couch.
Baby steps through the office.
Baby steps into the bedroom.
Baby steps into the bedroom...