David's+Page

=My name is David Jelsma, a sometimes student and optimistic nihilist. =

= = =**I Believe in Dirty Dishes **=

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My first apartment was a modest, three-bedroom affair on the second floor of what was once a rather large, rather well appointed early 20th Century Victorian. Cobbled up into a dozen odd units, the inside walls were stark white, paper thin and pock marked with holes left by various residents before me, evidently in moments of fitful passion. Everything about the place was small, and coming from my suburban great rooms and finished basements, the narrow hallways and low ceilings were close and comforting, but only to a point. In the confines of my shoebox kitchen, with its inconsistent oven, single-basin sink and invisible dishwasher, chaos reigned. ======

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 Now, I’m the kind of person who loves to cook without actually knowing how to cook, a fact underscored by the mess left behind after preparing even the most meager of meals. Despite my generally tidy nature, the kitchen sets its own rules, and dishes have always had a way of sneaking up on me. Pools of oil often congregate on my counters, and lonely, albumin slicked eggshells occasionally lie forgotten next to an overflowing trashcan. Sometimes, during life’s rushed straight-aways, a congealed mass of whatever the hell I had left in the refrigerator might languish on the stovetop for two, three days. This last transgression I of course justify on the basis of the devil-may-care attitude that is the hallmark of the eligible bachelor. But eventually, with a glass of water here and a bowl of cereal there, the kitchen sink lays the foundation for a cityscape in miniature; the fork girders reach tentatively out, bracing the unsteady architecture of neglect. Consequently, after the first few weeks in that first apartment, two simple truths cemented themselves firmly in my psyche. One: I believe in dirty dishes. Two: this is just the sort of mess that can wait for later. ======

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 However, the problem of procrastination is that it asks time to stand still. Of course it politely declines, and soon enough you’ve run out of plates or bowls, and attempting retrieval likely results in the kitchen equivalent of an earthquake. When problems and pint glasses pile up, minor nuisances mutate into small-scale catastrophes. The trick, like the question of the dirty dishes, is to deal with each and every disaster as it happens. By simply finishing what has been started, refusing the yolk the privileged victory of hardening into epoxy on the plate, I might attain some tiny enlightenment. After all, I have one toughened mind and two roughened hands, terrible things to waste on self-sabotage. ======

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 Yes, I believe in dirty dishes. Entropy dictates that chaos follows chaos follows chaos, and the only way to make sense of life’s little tragedies is to pick yourself up, gather your wits, then wash, rinse and repeat.  David, I love your essay. I think you masterfully used sensory details and a story to portray the catastrophe of procrastination that all of us students can relate to. A+ -Kassidy Hey David, I just read this ant totally agree with Kassidy, fantastic fantastic essay! Love the picture and the reading too. -- Emma ======