I am in another one of my tidy up phases, when I abhor disorder. I go around picking up stray objects and putting them in their proper places. Sometimes at night I won’t rest until a pile of papers is sorted. Of course this may mean merely stuffing them into a sack and putting the pouch into a drawer. Why I find this more tidy is not certain but it is.
When the garage door is open one sees a chockablock of cardboard boxes, being saved lest we need one. They are taking over, and an eyesore. I recently badgered Someone into compacting them and putting them into recycle. Bless him! It looks much better. I plan next to sweet talking him into tackling the Augean stable that is the tool shelf.
A Spo-fan asked me if Henrik the Ghost moves things around. The answer is no: he is not a poltergeist and I haven’t heard from in in ages. I dare say i hurt his feelings and he scrammed. So I can’t blame Henrik for moving cups and cutlery.
For a fellow fond of tidiness, the house is continually unraveling and returning to chaos and clutter; the second law of thermodynamics at its worst. It’s not fair the clothes and cups go wandering around the house forming themselves into piles of disarray.
But I refuse to surrender. I channel the generations of men and women who fought against dirt and corruption and slackers who were all to ready to accept squalor and decay and disarray.