Professional organizer in disguise

Michelle came over to help me tackle the disaster zone that is my dorm room, and I’m starting to think she missed her calling. While I’m throwing things into random piles and calling it “organized,” she’s over here creating actual systems with labeled sections and everything.

Professional organizer in disguise

She found my anatomy notes from sophomore year buried under three sweaters and a tennis racket I forgot I owned. “Elena, when did you last use this?” she asks, holding up a highlighter that’s completely dried out. Valid question. I have no good answer.

The great wardrobe evaluation continues

We’ve been at this for two hours and somehow turned cleaning into a full therapy session about her half-marathon training fears and my perpetual inability to fold fitted sheets properly. She’s convinced there’s a secret technique I’m missing. I’m convinced fitted sheets are just evil.

My room actually looks livable now, which means Michelle’s definitely coming back for future cleaning emergencies. She’s already eyeing my desk drawer with that “we’re not done here” look.