The featured photo is a corner of my drop-down desk, expired asthma inhaler, and all.
What you need to know: I used to be a slob. I wasn’t a dirty slob. Growing up, I kept clean clothes, clean record albums, clean books, clean this, and clean that, in piles all over my bedroom.
Honestly, it was packed to the gills with… uh… stuff. Mostly clean, as I say, but a case could be made for the occasional “pig-sty” comments from my parents when you consider a sandwich was once found under my bed. Don’t ask, don’t know!
My mom mostly ignored it, just shut my door when company came. For some reason, the whole thing really bothered Dad, who joked he had to blaze a trail to my bed. He wasn’t laughing, actually. One of the few times he really got angry with me was after he told me to clean my room before I went out… and I pushed everything – and I mean literally everything – into my closet and closed the doors.
See? All done, I said, waving as I walked out the front door.
I came home to a huge pile in the middle of my room and a very disgruntled father who sat on the edge of my bed and/or paced the hallway as I put away each and every little thing in that pile… in the place it belonged.
Over the years, I’ve changed. It wasn’t quick or easy. My kids will tell you I was a slobby mommy. We cleaned up nicely when necessary, of course, but messy drawers hid lots of … stuff.
Forced downsizing helped, like when I moved to Canada. I brought only what I could. Hubby didn’t have lots of stuff. We started from scratch and as a result, kept things mostly tidy. I found that I liked it and in fact, thrived.
This is why my desk(s) at my jobs have always been clear. I am incredibly organized at work.
At home, things are less-so, as one would expect.
Over the last year or so, things have begun to become…
Take for example my featured photo. When I opened my desk in the past, I would see an address book, a journal, a pencil case to hold loose items, and a pen-holder, neatly in line next to my laptop. Then, I added a tissue box. Later, a this and a that… and now you have… what you (and I) can plainly see.
I have been feeling a bit of a mess myself.
If your home is an indicator of your life…
It makes sense.
It’s been another rough year or so, but dang, the pandemic took *ALL OF US* for a ride – emotionally and otherwise!
It’s probably a little bit pandemic, a little bit grieving, a little bit a lot of things.
All I know is that things are a mess… both inside and out. And when that happens, there is only one place I go.
If I were to paint a picture, it would be me, sitting on a trash heap, typing on my laptop.
That’s truly how I feel at the moment.
(Jeez, Sher, dramatic much?)
I put up this little sign at work and it seems apropos at this moment:
I say there’s only one place to go… and it’s obvious… it’s… actually…
Wherever “here” is.
As usual, I’m being way too hard on myself.
Yes, things are messy but really, is it the end of the world?
I’m struggling. You’re struggling. We’re ALL struggling!
Is it fixable?
One small step at a time.
In saying all of the above, I would be remiss not to mention that this is a first-world problem of the highest degree. I suspect that what we’re witnessing on the news and online is a part of our collective depression and anxiety, especially on the heels of the pandemic.
But I want to be clear in saying that ignoring -or guilting away- our feelings is not the way to go. In fact, it only makes things worse. That’s why I’m talking about these things!
Taking care of what we can is the one small step we can take, which makes us better able to deal with what’s going on in the world.