Wednesday, August 24, 2011
I have this fantasy that if I could just be a little bit more organised, life would be so much easier. There wouldn't be those desperate "what on earth are we going to have for dinner?" moments, or the agonising wait for the next bus because I didn't quite get around to reading the timetable before we left the house, or the "I have nothing to wear" meltdowns (mine) because, apart from the two outfits that need washing, I really don't have anything that matches, fits, or really suits me. Yes, I am impulsive and messy, and I seem to have created equally messy and impulsive children (perhaps all children are messy and impulsive, I don't know...). When they want to do something, they want to do it NOW, and when they're ready to move on, they don't let something like clearing up, slow them down. You choose your battles after all, and I've always been a little obsessed with letting them express themselves. Anyway, some of the most interesting and creative, not to mention fun places, I've worked have also been the most messy and disorganised. These were also the places where I spent days looking for lost artwork and many frustrating months trying to crisis-manage the tangles created by chaotic personalities. I suppose what I'm trying to say is that my house (and my life) might be messy and disorganised, but I'm hoping something will be gained from this jumble. If I had everything micro-managed and neatly filed, then I don't think there could be so many magic moments, or so much creativity. I've always been good in a crisis and we certainly have many of those every day. It's possible they bring out the best in me.