I feel like I should officially give up on my desperate struggle to be organized. You would think with my super laid back schedule of teaching pilates, blogging, watching all of our recorded tv programs, and bulletin board supervision I would have one-upped the evil tyrant that is organization. But no – that war is over. Organization has made me its bitch and I now hang my head in shame and disarray.
Perhaps I should have gotten a clue about my failure as an orderly person when I blogged about Head PTA saying, “You seem organized…” and Tom all too quickly emailed me with a list that started out, “1. You have no skills of organization.” I thought that was a little harsh. I know he’s still thinking about that Saturday he devoted to cleaning out our linen closets and carefully using those space saving vacuum bags I insisted on buying only to have me rip through his progress in a matter of seconds because I wanted a blanket. I don’t think that’s entirely my fault. He should have used those bags on something I wouldn’t need. Like cleaning supplies, pleated pants, or non-alcoholic beverages. I’m ALWAYS needing blankets and booze!
But after a sobering review today of some of my cluttered transgressions, I’m joining Tom’s side of this argument and saying that….for real, I have NO skills of organization. In fact, let’s embark on a journey through my carefully constructed photo analysis of shame. The photos are grouped by article, offense, and designated area.
Let’s start with something inoffensive, like my passion for notebooks. It’s not that there’s anything organizationally inferior about notebooks, but my love of them borders on obsession. Not only that, but I generally choose them not for their pragmatism, but for their aesthetic appeal, like if they’re fuzzy, pretty, shiny, come with hardware, are Japanese, have special paper, or are otherwise *quirky. Do my notebooks speak for me as a person? Possibly. Are you questioning the Japanese part? I don’t blame you.
The Definitive Collection: Or at least what I could find nearest me.
What’s that you ask? Yes, I use my notebooks for more than just jotting down really awesome ideas. I also cut out super inspirational things and GLUE them inside! I swear – I could school a Pre-K-er in my sleep when it comes to cutting and gluing.
Exhibit A: In case you doubted my abilities.
Some of my notebooks don’t include my original work, like the Andy Warhol Idea Book. It’s the one with all the eyes in the first picture above. Half the pages are taken up with his work, which I find insanely helpful for when I die and someone takes an inventory of my notebooks. They might look at this one and possibly say, “Dear God! Her talent was hidden away in these notebooks all these years!” Well, now I may have ruined it. But if not for this blog….
Possibly Tom’s greatest irritation with my classification system can be described in two words: hidey holes. What? Where, you ask? ANYWHERE that can be obscured from the naked eye. I prefer hiding spots that are crafted to look like they are home to really important groupings of items…like tiny bottles of vodka, shoe coupons (total myth), and credit cards. Oh, you don’t have one? Here’s a picture:
AND it’s tiny. Bonus.
Maybe you’re wondering why I need a miniature, multidrawered chest in my house. Maybe I have a thimble collection in the drawers. Maybe I have a lot of flamingo-related paraphernalia. Who knows? Obviously the options are endless, but can best be described in picture form:
Perfect for housing my heating pad AND my random swath of leopard fabric.
Notebooks and small dressers aside, my personal affliction is my inability to frame prints and photos. Yet I continue to buy prints and photos. It’s your everyday frameless print/photo obsessive compulsive disorder that I’m hoping can be medicated. I understand if you doubt the gravity of my compulsion, so I’ve taken the problem one step further with the following pictures that I hope to not print and add to my list of items to frame:
Prints stuck behind a bookcase…
and in a closet behind a toolbox…
and on top of an armoire under some handpainted ornaments…
So, there you have it. I am pretty much totally and utterly disorderly. Do not consult me if you need your closet organized or you want an inventory of your pantry unless to you that entails shoving all of that crap into the deep recesses of your most unused piece of furniture or closet. If that’s the case, I’m definitely the person to call. I will rule your day with my nonsensical placement of items and haphazard regard for structure. Oh, and I also forgot to clean up some cat vomit on my new couch one time until Tom saw it. I mean, not until Tom saw it, because when he saw it he cleaned it up. But in my defense, it was just the tiniest bit of cat puke and it really blended in with the couch.
*Shout out to my good friend, Court, who keeps my stylishly swathed in notebooks.
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