Wednesday, January 15, 2014


            It’s strange to return home after a week away and see the literal disarray in your own life left out on the dining room table. There it is; all the scattered scraps of paper that make up your current style of living. There’s also that odd smell. Did this place always smell like that? Is that how I smell to others? Is someone in one of the other apartments really cooking their garbage for lunch? How did it get so dusty in here while I was away?

            It isn’t permanent though. It can all be sorted, categorized, cleaned and neatly squirreled away.  It can all be changed. I suppose coming home after being away for a while can lead to some optimism about what can be done. I started organizing things as soon as I walked back through the door. I put laundry away, I dusted. I didn’t turn the TV on right away and start the usual vegetation time. I feel a sense, or need, for organization.

It might also be my desire for structure. I think it’s the strangest aspect of my personality. I crave some disorder, some fly by the handle, opportunity will knock on the door type of life, yet long for a structure for all that to occur within. I like order, controlled chaos. I like knowing yet often am pleased with a surprise or two. Since I’ve been unemployed I’ve been looking for some order amid the chaos of my life. I want something solid to build upon, yet everything seems to be sand. And as we all know, sand isn’t very good to build on. Unless you’re Egyptian.

I like things to be organized. I like for things to be in place. I don’t much care for a lot of Willie-nillieness. I like things to be where they are supposed to be. I get frustrated when the world or other people don’t adhere to that philosophy. When things or people are out of control (or out of my control) I find myself stifled and nearly unable to act. I’m frozen, just trying to figure out what the hell just happened rather than acting on it. That’s not to say that I don’t immediately act at times. Usually that involves me losing my temper and yelling at someone or nearly getting into a fight over something stupid because I acted without thinking.

So the clutter in my apartment upon my return after being away has caused me to focus in a strange way. To focus on the things that need to get done. I have to finish a story or two. I have to send them to the right people to be read. I have to finally achieve something in line with my aspiration of being an actual writer and make a living at it.
           I have to do the dishes. I also have to find out what that smell is. Damn.

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