I Was A Mess Till I Confessed
One thing that has eluded my grasp is the ability to “put things in order”. The closet, a clutter of things that have no place in plain view, too painful to throw out. Papers here, over there, of things that should have been shredded years ago. All drawers stuffed with everything except what they should contain, and a chronic collection of dust from city life. All the while I wished for “an empty space“.
I’ve never learned the organizational skill that should have been ingrained out of necessity, perhaps from education, a failure admitted in one of my Chemistry notebooks saved from High School, written while practicing left-handed script in mirror image. A talent, useless to solving the New York Times Crossword Puzzle.
It was an Epiphany, enlightening my thought, suggesting that it wasn’t the physical mess that was the problem. Perhaps the disarray was the illusion created by my messy thinking.