Mom wasn’t too fond of my messy pile of clothes. As a kid, I would throw my clothes in the corner of my room near my pink canopy bed. Hey….at least I made a dedicated pile out of the clothes that I didn’t feel like hanging up.
Whoa. It actually just dawned on me that my childhood room was pink. Really pink. I loved my room. But pink, I don’t love so much. Now I ADORE metallic pink but this was more of a pepto bismol pink. I never really thought about the gendered decor in my bedroom. Huh.
So before you Judge Judy my mound of clothes too harshly, don’t be misled. My clothes were in nice and neat heap. I thought it fairly decent of me not to strewn my Sassoon jeans randomly about the shag carpet. At least my messes were contained, right? 
That’s just it. I am a container. You know, like I approve certain messes as long as they are in a controlled setting. I love Mozart for a reason. Everything fits within aesthetic economy.
These days, I may not have piles but I have my ways. I delegate the untidy via closets and drawers. Under the bed and furniture that stores…..these are my 21st century solutions to achieve dis-order relief.
Truth time: it doesn’t matter how well I minimize and maximize. I’m still containing (hiding) my messes 40 years later. It goes deeper than wrinkling my disco approved satin jacket.
These piles are my loose ends, complicated feelings, tabled inadequacies, eclipsed anxieties, and armored frenzy.
Right now, it’s Maundy Thursday. Tomorrow, Good Friday….not gonna end well. At least temporarily, imo. It won’t be pretty, tidy, or organized. I am culpable. I won’t be able to hide my debt under my bed.
Yeah. I can be a bozo. I mess up, react poorly, burn bridges, blah blah blah, you get the picture.
I guess I’m “lucky” to be able to hide my messes well enough to live a functional and fulfilling life.
And just when I think I’ve found a great way to triage and manage, the untidy finds new sources to keep me humble and continue the life lessons.
So, do you have a pile? How do you keep your space? Random messiness? Specific areas of mess? Different at home verses work?
TV Shows like hoarders make me think. Some people’s messes are more painfully obvious. But I’m not sure that we are all that different. Degrees, yes, but at the core, we’re similar. I am not able to hide my relationship with food so I get it. I eat my feelings. Every day I have to face the conspicuous result of this inner battle. No choice. No hiding place exists.
So there you have it. Life is messy. We may be walking each other home in this crazy life but this journey is not for the weary. It reminds of me and my brother in the back seat of the red Buick on one of our 1970’s family vacations. Neal and I wanted and needed very different things. We spoke in different emotions. Our mutual messiness didn’t play well in the sandbox. Not surprisingly, the invisible line we drew on the upholstery was little help.
That reminds me, I need to clean up my pile of coloring books, markers, and jewels.
Happy Spring Break, y’all! 😉
#akintsucrooner
(My childhood room in 2021. It has evolved:-D)
akintsucrooner 