My friends, I am a mess. And by "I", I mean, my house. My house is a mess. And me. I'm a mess, too. It's long been espoused that a messy space equals a messy mind, and I have to say I agree whole-heartedly. My external space perfectly reflects my messy, distracted inner space right now.
My desk is so cluttered I can't even sit down to pay bills. When I sit at the computer I just move piles around. Who knows what's in some of those piles?
There's the corner of my bedroom, where I toss things I don't know what to do with: items to be returned to the store, bags of things I just bought but don't feel like I have time to deal with, uncompleted projects. There are the 4 laundry baskets overflowing with clean laundry waiting on the floor patiently since Monday, needing to be sorted and put away.
The basket of "female supplies" sitting on the lip of the bathtub that's been there so long I might as well just leave it out now, 'cause I'm going to need it again soon. The collection of lotions and facewash and who knows what else on the bathroom counter. The pile of mail that still needs to be dealt with from last week. The hall closet I'm a little afraid to open because I may set off an avalanche of lightbulbs, paper products, and craft supplies.
The bowl of grape tomatoes on the kitchen counter that just sits there day after day. Is anyone going to eat them? Ever? The sprawling pile of dirty dishes waiting for the clean ones to be unloaded from the dishwasher, along with the dirty dishes that are too big to put in the dishwasher. I swear they're procreating while we sleep. The mugs for which we no longer have room in the cupboards sitting forlorn and abandoned on the counter.
The newspaper from Sunday, still on the dining table, along with crumbs from who knows when. And don't even get me started on the kitchen floor. It's crunchy, my friends. Stuff sticks to our feet when we walk.
The pile of clipped coupons that just keeps growing on the fireplace. The toys and blankets and pillows and books strewn about on the living room floor. The ever expanding piles at the top of the stairs, needing to be brought down, and outside the utility room, needing to be put away. And don't even get me started on the dust. Where does it come from? Seriously, does anyone know?
It is just too much. The harder I work to keep it under control, the more it spirals out of control, and by "it" I mean, both my environment and my inner well-being. And I...I am a mess. Inside and out.
I know what the problem is, at least what part of the problem is. Both in my outer environment and inside my psyche, there are too many things that I just don't know what to do with--I don't know where they belong. Too many things, too many thoughts, feelings, desires, memories, hopes, dreams, failures, wounds.
You know that I hate clutter. You know that I am constantly getting rid of things. But I need to be ruthless, my friends, utterly ruthless and cold-hearted in ridding my life of this unnecessary clutter. And I need to start with me.