Sometimes I Worry That I've Lost The Plot

Okay so, besides the terribly whiny (and unspellchecked...seriously, how hard is it to hit a goddamn button?) post from earlier, I decided to add one more senseless entry to cap off the evening. What could I be doing instead? Writing a paper and studying for a final. But I love you more, interwebs, and as a result I'm going to fail at (a very well recorded) life.
What will this entry be about? You ask, on the edge of your seat, I'm sure. Settle in, dear friends, because you are in for an intensely boring moment. Because I'm going to write about cleaning.
Wait...where are you going? Really, you're going to leave already, and not listen to my heady tale?
Whatever.
So, I go home on the weekends now. Every weekend. I strap a bag to my back and carry my laptop case down to whatever train station strikes me fancy first. Three to four glorious days are spent at home. Upon my return Monday morning to my dorm room, however, I generally dump my shit and go to class.
Typically this gets cleaned by Tuesday night. Well guess what it is, ladies, gentlemen, and germs- Tuesday night. Except I haven't cleaned. Oh no. You know how much I haven't cleaned? The only dishes suitable to eat off of at this point is a single cup and a mug that can't be microwaved. The drawer I keep all of my books and folder and notebooks in is completely empty, and I honestly can't see either my desk or my bed, because all of the books and notebooks are opened with scribbles and post-it notes and paperclips. Its like Staples had an orgy but didn't clean up after itself. Damn capitalist pigs.
Adding to the fuckville that has become of my side of the dorm is a tangle of wires that I'm not even totally sure are mine...they may have followed me here. On top of those wires are a multitude of black bags in various sizes. One backpack (that isn't actually unpacked...I'm just living out of it for a few days until I go home again), a messenger bag with Monday's books, a shoulder bag with today's books for my second class, and a purse with the books I brought to read during dinner. On top of all of these is a empty water bottle that is not mine and I have no idea whose it is, a roll of toilet paper for reasons I cannot fathom, and a jar of Peter Pan peanut butter.
The only explanation I may offer for this debauchery?
Finals week has begun.