DO Fear the Platypus
"After changes upon changes we are more or less the same."
--The Boxer by Paul Simon
That lyric has stayed with me since I first heard it (well) over thirty years ago. I go back and forth on how accurate I think it is, but I've certainly kept one characteristic through all the many changes of my life: my inability to keep a neat and organized space. This is sometimes painfully and sometimes hilariously demonstrated by the disarray, clutter, and plain old mess of any environment I inhabit: my car, my house, and work space, whether it's an office, desk, or locker.
My out-of-control work space was an issue recently when I had to pack up my cube in preparation for new carpet installation. The angst was intensified by a deadline: we had to get our space cleared by 5:00 p.m. on a specified day. Of course I waited to the last day to work on this project because I apparently unconsciously crave self-inflicted drama.
As I sifted through piles of papers, clothing, and packets of soy sauce, I was reminded of my days of cleaning out my school locker. Particularly striking was the year (sophomore or junior?) when I hoarded food and pantyhose. Okay, there was probably actually only one pair of pantyhose, but my friends strung it from my locker across a doorway to another locker, so it definitely made an impression (and I'm so happy Jennifer Linse commented about this on Facebook!)
I definitely had to contend with a staggering amount of leftover bags of chips, granola bars, fruit rollups, fruit pies, etc., that I had squirrelled away from lunches packed by my mom. It's not that I didn't eat lunch, but my mom always believed it was better to have extra supplies and be prepared for late nights filled with band practice and other nerdy extra-curricular activities. I was certainly not a health conscious teenager but there were just so many packets of processed joy that I could eat in one day, and I just never bothered to bring the surplus home. I think that summer was one of the best of my dad's life, as he got to spend it snacking out of the big box of goodies I finally brought home. He had his own private, and free, vending machine.
I'm also usually chagrined and stymied when I need to give somebody a ride. I can remember as far back as grad school when I chauffeured Chad and some of his inebriated law school classmates (yes this was so long ago that I could actually be the sober driver) and the boys had to shovel out piles of paper back books to make room for themselves. (I acquired these literary castoffs as a bookstore employee). As I was also in library school at the time, the boys thought it was hilarious that they were riding around in the bookmobile. I also remember they found a lot of shoes...
The "not bothering" tendency is my organizational downfall. I actually don't think I keep substantially more papers, snacks, clothes, and whatnot than the average bear, (although what I keep may be markedly weirder) but I just don't bother to find a logical home for it. Eventually when I'm forced to deal with it I hide it or throw it away. I think I'm still, thankfully, a long way from officially being a hoarder, but am just a procrastinator (and/or lazy). And okay, I do sometimes have a hard time saying "no" to something I just might want or need later (especially if it's free).
I do think people change...sometimes through intention and effort, and sometimes through circumstance and experience. At the end of Douglas Adams' book "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul," a new god of guilt is created from the protagonist's uncleaned refrigerator. I don't feel guilty about my mess-creating proclivities, although I do often get annoyed, frustrated, and overwhelmed by my self-induced chaos (I make no pretense that my messiness is a sign of creativity). Perhaps if my desk gives rise to an actual physical manifestation of my messiness, the pissed-off Platypus of Perfection will inspire me to lead a new clutter-free life.
--The Boxer by Paul Simon
That lyric has stayed with me since I first heard it (well) over thirty years ago. I go back and forth on how accurate I think it is, but I've certainly kept one characteristic through all the many changes of my life: my inability to keep a neat and organized space. This is sometimes painfully and sometimes hilariously demonstrated by the disarray, clutter, and plain old mess of any environment I inhabit: my car, my house, and work space, whether it's an office, desk, or locker.
My out-of-control work space was an issue recently when I had to pack up my cube in preparation for new carpet installation. The angst was intensified by a deadline: we had to get our space cleared by 5:00 p.m. on a specified day. Of course I waited to the last day to work on this project because I apparently unconsciously crave self-inflicted drama.
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| My cube, mid-packing. If you look closely you can see Olivia passed out in the background. |
I definitely had to contend with a staggering amount of leftover bags of chips, granola bars, fruit rollups, fruit pies, etc., that I had squirrelled away from lunches packed by my mom. It's not that I didn't eat lunch, but my mom always believed it was better to have extra supplies and be prepared for late nights filled with band practice and other nerdy extra-curricular activities. I was certainly not a health conscious teenager but there were just so many packets of processed joy that I could eat in one day, and I just never bothered to bring the surplus home. I think that summer was one of the best of my dad's life, as he got to spend it snacking out of the big box of goodies I finally brought home. He had his own private, and free, vending machine.
I'm also usually chagrined and stymied when I need to give somebody a ride. I can remember as far back as grad school when I chauffeured Chad and some of his inebriated law school classmates (yes this was so long ago that I could actually be the sober driver) and the boys had to shovel out piles of paper back books to make room for themselves. (I acquired these literary castoffs as a bookstore employee). As I was also in library school at the time, the boys thought it was hilarious that they were riding around in the bookmobile. I also remember they found a lot of shoes...
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| Angry Platypus (from book buried on my desk) really wants me to keep my crap organized. |
I do think people change...sometimes through intention and effort, and sometimes through circumstance and experience. At the end of Douglas Adams' book "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul," a new god of guilt is created from the protagonist's uncleaned refrigerator. I don't feel guilty about my mess-creating proclivities, although I do often get annoyed, frustrated, and overwhelmed by my self-induced chaos (I make no pretense that my messiness is a sign of creativity). Perhaps if my desk gives rise to an actual physical manifestation of my messiness, the pissed-off Platypus of Perfection will inspire me to lead a new clutter-free life.
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