Organized Chaos

I have often been amused to hear people at work talk about how organized I am. They're convinced that I am naturally like that - everything in it's place, filed and color-coordinated. Even when I try to tell them it's all a self-imposed, purposeful construct that helps me get through my workday, they simply shake their heads in denial. Even when I try to convince them that it really does take a lot of effort on my part to be that way, they smirk and say "Whatever Mandy."

Regardless of what I say, they don't believe me.

I wish they would talk to my husband. Colin would tell them all about how I really am when I'm at home and I'm in my more natural mental state. He calls it 'organized chaos' but I think he's being polite. Really it's probably better described as just plain chaos.

At home, things appear randomly wherever I happen to drop them. There are usually pairs of shoes spread throughout the house, one or more in each room ('and not always in pairs', Colin points out oh-so-helpfully). My ever-present cardigans could be in the guest room, over the back of the chaise in our room, on the living room couch, or on the kitchen counter (anywhere but the closet). I am constantly in search of such small items as keys and sunglasses because I tend to set them down when I come in but not always in the same place.

The largest concern I had about our current home was the fact that we would have to share a closet. My anal-retentive, super-neat hubby shivered at the thought but he has managed well. I work very hard to keep it mostly clean - usually by dumping whole piles of clothes from the floor into the hamper even if they aren't dirty.

When we travel, Colin likes to compare what happens to the contents of my suitcase to an explosion, or, as he says, to what would happen if I "unzipped it and ran around the room shaking out the insides in small piles completely at random."

In some ways I like being organized, having everything where it should be and easy-at-hand. At work it gives me a sense of confidence and preparedness. But I have to admit that my natural comfort zone is in a state of slight (or even advanced) disarray. There's something homey and comfortable about stuff being strewn about in a way that implies use and even need. If everything is neat and tidy it tends to make me feel like I can't relax.

But, more than likely, only those of you who have actually lived with me will believe that.