The drawers to my dresser will never be organized. It is a sorry sight, actually. They are oozing out sweaters, and running clothes and socks that don't have their matches. I try very hard to fold my clothes nicely and tuck them away tightly but to no avail. This dresser corner has a permanent case of "morning room." I wouldn't care except that I do, because for better or for worse, the way things look matter to me.
In college I roomed with a friend who had that kind of dresser that you opened, and saw everything arranged just so, I began to suspect that the clothes might, in fact fold themselves. I watched and tried to mimic, but it just didn't work. By the end of the week, her clothes still had clean lines, and mine were crumpled. My wardrobe is eternally indebted to Downy Wrinkle Release.
So, I am reluctantly coming to grips with the fact that I am disorganized, unorganized (however it goes), but quite organized in my own way. I know all disorganized people have this perfect mess claim, so I won't try to further that point, but I will say that the organization thing, functional though it is, is sort of boring. And I know it's weird to find the dog leash in the fruit bowl, but hey, you found it and remembered that your banana would go bad if you didn't bring it for lunch today.
So, since there is nothing worse than coloring inside the lines when all. you. want. to. do. is PLEASE scribble outside of them, and heaven forbid, draw your own picture, I say, please do. At the risk of showing some skin, or some heart, even. Create. It's life-bringing.
And for the "put-togethers" and "matchy matchers," I appreciate your boxes and your crisp, clean lines, really, I do. And I realize I am probably taking several of your orderly feats for granted. Regardless, I say to you: Dare you to let it get messy.
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