Bedlam
You know my flair for the dramatic, so perhaps BEDLAM is the wrong word for today, but it seems to sum up what I see at my house as of late.
For the three weeks that I was on Spring Break, my life was organized brilliance.
Okay, for me, it was organized brilliance.
Dishes were done DAILY. If I got a wild hair, sometimes dishes were done TWICE DAILY.
My bed was made, usually right after I got out of it in the morning.
Clothes were put away.
Items were ironed and hung in the appropriate places.
Cat hair was under control and not floating all over the place.
[Insert heavy, longing sigh here] I walked into my house after class last night ... a class that went on for much longer than should be humanly possible and allowable ... and BEDLAM met me at the door. Okay, Emmy met me at the door, but by her very nature, she is BEDLAM, and since she causes the lion's share of BEDLAM, BEDLAM did indeed meet me at the door.
My floors are covered in a thin layer of cat hair ...
My sink is full of dishes (I suspect that's part of the funky odor in my kitchen) ...
My bed hasn't been made in more than a week ...
Clothes are EVERYWHERE ...
Nothing is ironed ...
Bedlam ...
I'm always amazed ... wide-eyed with wonder at the rapid speed at which my life is overtaken by the chaos of living. I'm on a constant race to control it.
I don't like structure, but I can only function when I'm under structure.
Yes, the irony of such a dichotomy has not been lost on this philosophical 30-something!
I wonder if that is how hoarding happens .... when you get to a place where you just allow BEDLAM to rule and give in to the utter lack of control.
And that is why I fight it. I realize that the likelihood of me getting married and having children is getting less and less likely. So, I realize that I will need to rely on friends and possibly some family in my old age to check in on me and make sure I'm still kicking. The LAST thing I want is for one of them to find me dead, buried under boxes of flotsam and jetsam ... next to the rotting carcases of my 20 cats.
This afternoon, after I write my last paper for this insanely, ridiculous class that has lasted way too long, I will be waging a war on BEDLAM.
That cloud of dust and debris you see on the United States radar map? That's me and BEDLAM in a headlock.
For the three weeks that I was on Spring Break, my life was organized brilliance.
Okay, for me, it was organized brilliance.
Dishes were done DAILY. If I got a wild hair, sometimes dishes were done TWICE DAILY.
My bed was made, usually right after I got out of it in the morning.
Clothes were put away.
Items were ironed and hung in the appropriate places.
Cat hair was under control and not floating all over the place.
[Insert heavy, longing sigh here] I walked into my house after class last night ... a class that went on for much longer than should be humanly possible and allowable ... and BEDLAM met me at the door. Okay, Emmy met me at the door, but by her very nature, she is BEDLAM, and since she causes the lion's share of BEDLAM, BEDLAM did indeed meet me at the door.
My floors are covered in a thin layer of cat hair ...
My sink is full of dishes (I suspect that's part of the funky odor in my kitchen) ...
My bed hasn't been made in more than a week ...
Clothes are EVERYWHERE ...
Nothing is ironed ...
Bedlam ...
I'm always amazed ... wide-eyed with wonder at the rapid speed at which my life is overtaken by the chaos of living. I'm on a constant race to control it.
I don't like structure, but I can only function when I'm under structure.
Yes, the irony of such a dichotomy has not been lost on this philosophical 30-something!
I wonder if that is how hoarding happens .... when you get to a place where you just allow BEDLAM to rule and give in to the utter lack of control.
And that is why I fight it. I realize that the likelihood of me getting married and having children is getting less and less likely. So, I realize that I will need to rely on friends and possibly some family in my old age to check in on me and make sure I'm still kicking. The LAST thing I want is for one of them to find me dead, buried under boxes of flotsam and jetsam ... next to the rotting carcases of my 20 cats.
This afternoon, after I write my last paper for this insanely, ridiculous class that has lasted way too long, I will be waging a war on BEDLAM.
That cloud of dust and debris you see on the United States radar map? That's me and BEDLAM in a headlock.
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