Organized Chaos defined: My life.
A well-ordered personal environment helps an individual lead an organized life. Or so I have read. A disorganized environment, on the other hand, leads to chaos at home and in life.
This is probably true, but as hard as I try, an ordered lifestyle eludes me.
My brain’s awash with to-dos, all a jumble. I note appointments on my calendar, but on days I forget to check I miss something – an appointment, an exercise class, a to-do with a time constraint, missing a deadline.
This is my life.
My house will neither appear on the cover nor on the inside pages of a house beautiful magazine. No one will interview me about my quirky yet imaginative decorating ideas. No one would ever pay to see my home on a house tour. I, alternatively, might consider paying people to avoid my house. Or at least my bedroom. Should an individual disappear amidst the piles of clothes, bedding and other paraphernalia scattered around the room or in the dark recesses of my closet, they are forewarned.
I knew a man who moved from one house to another a few miles away. He took the junk drawer from his old house, drove over to his new home and dumped the contents into a newly designated junk drawer, then returned the empty drawer to his old house.
Not to give the wrong impression, I do laundry (when necessary), put away clothes (usually), make my bed (most of the time) – yet the mess resurfaces, rising again like the phoenix. Piles propagate, appearing higher and wider every time I enter the room. This past weekend I spent time decluttering, filling bags for the local thrift shop, feeling good about cleaning the room AND donating clothes previously worn but in great condition.
Getting rid of items not torn, stained, too small (must have shrunk in the wash) or otherwise unwearable is not in my genes. It is hard for me to sort through stuff and decide what to keep and what to give away. I have done this before. Hub and I downsized – twice - but it is still difficult. A friend goes through her closet yearly, and anything not worn in the past year is tossed. I am not that cold blooded.
Then there are papers. And books, magazines, newspapers. I have files and shelves and toss newspapers and magazines, but after I read them. Problem is I don’t get around to reading them every day. So the material piles up.
I think about going to the Container Store and buying a carload of organizers, but there is no room in my house for all the containers. And I probably would never get around to filling the containers in an orderly manner. I consider calling 1-800-closet organizers, but am unwilling to spend the money.
On the other hand should I need a particular book or document I can locate it in a surprisingly short period of time. I am orderly in my own peculiar, disorganized fashion.
Organized chaos. That’s my lifestyle.
Perhaps a gene warped in utero, forever condemning me to a lifetime of unneatness (it is a word – I looked it up). Or maybe I inherited a disheveled gene from a well meaning but also untidy forefather or mother.
There may be special programs for people like me, but at my advanced age I doubt the treatment would be effective. I am fated to be me, chaotic but content.
After years feeling guilty living and working amidst chaos, kidding myself that I will straighten up the clutter one day, someday, I no longer feel guilty. This is me and I’m going with it.