So anyone who knows me has had the dizzying experience, at one point or another, of trying to decipher the discombobulation in my head. I can only wonder what they think as they walk away, sometimes very slowly and at other times, as fast as they can. I am surprised some ever talk to me ever again. I doubt that I would if I could separate me from me. But anyway--such is the fate of one who is nuts.
Attendant to my way of being are cluttered corners--sometimes literal, like on the nightstand or on the desk, and others that tenaciously cling to the edges of thinking spaces often traveled--that exacerbate my sorry state. The fact that I don't always recognize them takes things to yet another level. Last weekend I accidentally identified and dealt with one and felt a renewal of being I can't describe. 'Twas my clothes closet, which I first approached to find a certain pair of pants and wound up attacking with vigor. I threw things away, packed away others and then, for the pièce de résistance, ORGANIZED THE REST.
I was overwhelmed by the results--so much so that I kept opening the door and looking just to make sure it wasn't someone else's. Now I know where all my pants are, including the pair I sought (which, irony of ironies, didn't surface till about 80 percent through the process). Alas, I looked upon my work and saw that it was good.
Now, if only I can transfer the process of that tiny victory to other corners, where ungraded papes, new ways of teaching vocabulary and term projects are lurking. More on that later....
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