Published in · 6 min read · Nov 19, 2020
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My room used to be a disaster. No exaggeration. I had to trudge through piles of clothing to get to the door and was cultivating penicillin in a mug on my nightstand. I was resigned to the environment which I had allowed to form around me, overwhelmed by the prospect of cleaning because there were even more daunting projects to tackle in the recesses of my closet, growing in size throughout many years of neglect. If you’d asked me to…