Clutter as the Map of My Mind

Sure.  Say what you must:  “It’s a mess.”  I know.  Kay’s a little frustrated with it.

But it’s me we’re talking about here, not a prepared background of a podcast for a lifestyle promotion by some celebrity.  Just me – and my everyday life.  And it is me.  It’s not just something I did or do, it is who I am.  To understand me – should anyone ever be so inclined – one must understand my kind of clutter.  It’s the map to who I am.  There isn’t any “X” on this map where the pot of gold is hidden.  There ain’t no gold, just a bunch of crap that I see, or have seen, as significant from my perspective on reality seen through this knot hole in the partition between me and the universe at large.

As they say – whoever they are:  “It ain’t easy being easy.”  I would just add that living with clutter ain’t easy either.  I hate it despite a vague awareness that such disparagement must associate in some way with self-loathing but I sense that there is a poor-enough correlation that I am not very anxious about that association.  My computer has a harder time with it though.  I can spend very frustrating hours looking for something I just stored a few days ago – maybe years, I don’t know.  My criteria for where I store files varies from day to day and my naming conventions for files are capricious to say the least.  But in my searches through these catacomb mazes to find a file whose subject is foremost on my mind at the moment, serendipity often intercedes, providing me the with the compensating pleasure of something new taking over as foremost on my mind.

The bookcase I look at from my desk is cluttered too, although more organized than most aspects of my life.  I like it just how it is.  In a way it reminds me of growing up in a home where the one and only bookcase was organized in accordance with my mother’s sense of what colors belonged next to what, but not like rainbows.  Mine reminds me of important people and times in my life. The colors are nice too.

I often wonder what goes on in the minds of people who can’t handle clutter, but not for long; that’s not what clutters my mind.