But, in the spirit of sharing, I will.
And I am going to sincerely hope my Mama (and my husband) don’t have heart attacks at the end of this post. (However, I AM the beneficiary on both of their life insurance policies so, errmm…I mean…don’t die, you two. Mmkay?)
I need to get organized.
Like, in the worst possible way. NEED.
I feel compelled to enter myself into whatever HGTV show takes me to The Container Store and completely revamps my entire non-organized existence. (And if I don’t have to pay for the re-do, that’s a bonus.)
I have never, ever, ever been what you’d call “organized.” I’ve always been more “organized chaos” than “a place for every thing and everything in its place.” Always.
I used to think that “organized chaos” was a totally acceptable way to live. That it’s just the way I was. Until I grew up and realized that this system of organized chaos is not how the grown-up people do things.
This chaos is another reason I don’t hire babysitters. My house isn’t clean enough for them. And by “isn’t clean” I don’t mean I’m hoarding Great-great-aunt Ethel’s Civil War era cat poo in a nasty litter box.
I mean there is stuff EVERYWHERE. In every inch of my house. And I’m getting kind of overwhelmed by it all. To the point that I want to take a day off from work and have Dan do the same and take Joshua to daycare and throw shit away. (Not literal shiii, people. We covered that, right? When it’s brown we flush it down.)
I would have to clean my house just to have a sitter come and watch my child for a few hours. And the whole time, I think I’d be scared the sitter would find whatever junk drawer where I stashed everything away.
I feel like the organized chaos I used to call my life is just becoming chaos.
And I’m starting to drown under the weight of it all.
Take, for example, my bathroom vanity. And this, Mom and Dan, is where you may want to avert your eyes. Because I’m about to display my chaos on the interwebs. Where it will live forever.
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| OH. MY. GOD. THE CHAOS. |
Do you see this? Do you see this? Everything in my bathroom must exist on the 18x24ish piece of granite that rests between the two sinks or in the top drawer. Because Joshua can reach everything else.
And this? Is my podium at work. I would show you my desk area, but it’s just more of the same.
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| Hi, Blogger-in-draft. |
Y’all, this? Is no longer working for me.
I want to cry thinking about how this sort of chaos is taking over my life. And this urge to swallow back the tears welling up in my throat doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with PPD/A, either. I mean, yes, the overwhelming-yet-completely-neglected desire to organize my life has been present pretty much since Joshua was born, but I literally feel like I’m drowning in this.
I feel like I am not a grown-up because of this apparent inability to get and stay organized.
I mean, adults don’t live like this, right? Adults are neat and orderly and NOT LIVING IN CHAOS.
I have no idea where to start. I hate spending money. Mostly because we don’t have much to spend. So anything I do has to be cheap and easily executable. At least as easy as it would be to just hold a trash can to the edge of the counter top and rake everything into it with one swoop of my arm.
Help. Please. I need to become an adult before I lose my mind.