The thought of your
Means more to my
Than I could ever
Even if you have to
For a small moment
I’d waste everything
Just to imagine you
I’m a terribly unorganized person.
Rather, as it pertains to my own personal space, I’m a terribly unorganized person.
I don’t just mean in a physical sense, either. Sure, my room is typically messy. I’m talking from an emotional and mental standpoint, though. In both situations, I can throw together the illusion of tidiness pretty well.
The problem is: I usually just bury the clutter somewhere else.
With my room, I usually end up sticking things in boxes. You could accuse me of being over-sentimental, I wouldn’t argue. I have holiday cards from eons ago, tiny notes my mum leaves in the packages she has sent over the years, playbills, ticket stubs; I even have a sizeable collection of used Sky Train tickets. A lot of these things pile up, inevitably getting shoved into a box. Nothing really gets sorted, tidied, or addressed, just packed away for later.
Just like emotions.
I compartmentalize a lot of what goes on in my head. People and relationships come and go, and I rarely ever fully experience them. This usually leaves a looming sense of non-closure over my memories. Over-sentimentality doesn’t work well internally. After packing your emotional baggage, you’re supposed to move on. You’re supposed to empty that luggage, and fill it with more practical feelings.
The trouble is: being comfortable enough to show people your dirty laundry. It’s much easier to assume they’ll be turned off by the sight, rather than be the first to jump in to help you wash it.
I’ve got lots of bags, boxes, and suitcases to unpack. Some are tangible, which may be a good place to start. Others need a little more time, and probably a helping hand to tackle.
Anyone out there handy with a washboard?