I’m sitting at my desk looking at the piles of papers and books around me and feeling very disorganized. I don’t know why I’m blogging again so soon; it would probably be a more profitable use of my time to clean up this mess.
Ridiculous as this sounds, I’m actually enjoying the cluttered, lived-in, busy surroundings. This is new for me, since I do strange things like color-coding the clothes in my closet and arranging all the shirts and pants separately by season. My file drawer that nobody ever sees is immaculate. Maybe the OCD tendencies that helped me survive college died when I graduated or maybe I just like the look of books and papers stacked everywhere.
Green by Ted Dekker has been begging me to read it since my brother finished it two days ago; it’s sitting on top of a stack at my right that includes Going Rogue by Sarah Palin, Disipline by Elisabeth Elliot, National Geographic Photography Field Guide, and 10 Rules of Writing by Elmore Leonard. On my left, another stack rests including Renaissance Church by Edmond Teo, Nikon D3000 for Dummies, The Secrets of the Lord by Dannah Gresh, Dialogue by Lewis Turco, and Common Sense by Glenn Beck. My journal and my Bible are on the table at my left next to the stack of books, both half covered by an untidy accumulation of research papers marked up with highlighter and notes. The research is mine and others, a growing paper shadow of the upcoming conference presentation I’m not at all ready for. Mixed in at the top are pieces of paper with content changes for a new ministry website I’m revamping.
Come to think of it, I’m desperately feeling the urgency for organization now; my heart’s even beating faster. I can’t stand feeling so responsible for all this and yet, what would I be doing if I wasn’t? Maybe a clean workspace would be better but then, I really don’t want to mess up my beautiful chaos!
On my right, next to my computer, is my phone (I’m expecting a call from a friend in Oregon); on the other side, a half-empty pack of Mentos Ice gum that I brought home from Vietnam is sitting next to the still unwatched Confessions of a Shopaholic DVD I picked up at the library last week. I keep putting off watching it because I know I should be memorizing Mozart’s Fantasia in D Minor for my piano recital in a month and I’d much rather be talking with my friend from Oregon if only she’d call. Through it all, this whole blessed mess is being benevolently observed by the smiling faces of two of my professors and my sister looking out from their frames at the head of my desk.
My life is a wreck. But I could care less; I like it the way it is… and my phone is finally ringing.