My master bedroom.
I have worked so hard, and come so far on that room.
But right now . . . . it looks almost like it used to. The only difference is that this time I feel justified. I know that it isn’t a mass of randomness. I know that there is a “perfectly good reason” why it looks that way. I know that it would only take a few minutes to put it all away. I know that the reason I haven’t spent those few minutes is that I want to wait until I’m sure that everything that needs to go in those (apparently chaotic but surprisingly organized) piles has been washed.
(Excuse alert!) See, when you live in a miserably hot and humid place, but travel to a dry and cool place in the summer, you have to pull your winter clothes out of storage to pack. Then, when you get back, you have to wash those winter clothes, put them back into their storage containers/suitcases/whatever, and put those containers back wherever they go. Multiply by 5 people, and you have quite a project on your hands.
Here’s my point. To the untrained eye (what I wouldn’t give to be an untrained eye in this area), my master bedroom looks like a tornado hit it. But to me, it’s not that bad, because I know the reason why it looks that way. I also know how much worse it could be.
If anyone walked into it, like the DSL repair man wanted to this morning, I would die. So ultimately, my own excuses don’t mean anything.
My options are to make a sign to hang on my bedroom door addressed “To Whom It May Concern Who Happens To Open This Door” or . . . . clean it up. Zip the suitcase, put the lids on the tubs, and move them to their real homes.
And if I’m honest, even though there’s a “reason” for the current mess, it does the same thing to me mentally that the “reason-less” mess did. I feel frustration and hopelessness every time I stub my toe or almost fall flat on my face, tripping over a suitcase, when I get up to go the bathroom in the middle of the night.