Heather from Dooce.com occasionally mentions that being the valedictorian of her high school class hasn't really paid off that much in her adult life. You know what else rarely pays off as an adult? Spelling bee skills.

Today, I got to prove that I could spell "Massachusetts" without cheating. (Contrary to popular belief, that has nothing to do with the fact that my boyfriend just graduated from a college near Boston). Of course, I think I would shoot myself if I couldn't properly name and spell all fifty states.

The real fun will come when someone asks me to spell "onomatopoeia" without cheating. THEN MY LIFE WILL HAVE MEANING.

So yeah. Get on that, adult world.

I had a dream last night wherein I toured the site of several childhood nightmares — this time viewing the scene as a young adult. A friend in the dream pointed out scary-looking elements from the backyard and noted, "Huh, that must be why this place was always so creepy for us." Everyone had aged. Several characters didn't show up. A few books were missing from the shelves. But aside from those small, appropriate differences, the setting was identical.

It was super weird.

On one hand, I'm glad that I've grown out of that particular dream series. (Like many of my recurring nightmares, the subject revolved around the darker sequences from The Wizard of Oz.) On the other hand, wow, I hope that never happens again.

The way I walked around in the dream gave me a glimpse of life as a pretentious adult, as the kind of person who sneers all the way through art museums and who doesn't drink chocolate milk. That person would have laughed at the child who found witches and black castles scary. That person has no imagination and a bad attitude. That person doesn't properly appreciate the color pink.

I don't think I'm at risk for becoming that person, since I still feel sympathetic for other peoples' irrational fears (past and present) and still drink chocolate milk almost daily. However, I definitely want to avoid dreaming like that arrogant old fart. I probably don't have much control over that, but I think I'm going to start falling asleep to Spongebob Squarepants just to be safe.

As some of you may remember, I've been following along with Unclutterer.com for months now, gathering tips and motivation for clearing the clutter from my bedroom. (Click here to go back to the initial post on the subject.) I have twice as much stuff as will fit in here, mostly because I made my dorm room in Texas really cozy all those years ago and then just boxed up that life and took it back to Chicago with me.

I've pared down a lot since then, but I think there is a hoarding streak in my dad's side of the family that occasionally rears its ugly head for me. I distinctly remember crying as a child because I had to throw away a tissue (probably one that had been cried in earlier). What if it got mad at me? Would it feel lonely or abandoned?

Suck it up, Miniskirts*. It was a tissue. What was it going to do? Seek revenge? Cry little tissue tears into an even smaller tissue?

Ahem. So anyway, one reader mentioned that she only allows herself to listen to podcasts while she's cleaning, and that has made the whole process much more fun for her. I tried it this week, and whoa dang, totally works for me. Mind you, I'm only in the uncluttering phase right now (not organizing or cleaning, really), so I might end up listening to every available episode of every podcast ever before that is over, but at least I'll be happily distracted while I'm working toward my amazing new life.

Recommended resources for other clutterbugs: the Unclutterer website, the Unclutterer book, Real Simple magazine (the pictures alone are usually great inspiration, but I also love their tips; archives are available for free online), and anything else that reminds you of what you want your life to look like and/or that helps you get there.

*I don't really want to have children, but if I ever found myself with a daughter, I would totally call her Miniskirts (as a nickname). Don't hate.