Because my mind is made up of lists, lists, lists, lists and my living area is made up of stacks and piles, stacks and piles. My life is consolidated into one tightly bound, carefully organized, and neatly printed little blue Franklin Covey Planner that I got on clearance at Target for $10 and a tree of folders inside my poor, abused HP laptop, organized with such care that my pictures reside in individual folders all labeled first with the year, then with the month, then with the date, and finally with the subject, so I can view my life chronologically in full color.
Organized. That’s the word that many people use to describe me, but I currently sit on the outermost corner of my bed, leaning back against a pile of clothes, bedding, stuffed animals, and even a lunchbox that really need to be put away. Some people have a hard time making lists, but I don’t. I can sit down on a Tuesday evening and type up a list of 101 things that I would like to do in the next three or so years without any qualms, but hanging my laundry onto hangers is a huge challenge to me.
By all rights, my clothing should be hung in the closet, sorted by type, and then by height and color, for aesthetics, just like my books that sit on my bookcase right now, but they’re not. My shelves should be labeled with my Dymo Label Maker, and the contents of my desk drawer should have tabs for easy reference, with colored dots on each one marking how often I should refer back to each item. Should I look over them daily, weekly, or occasionally? If I looked over them more often, perhaps I would be able to find the stapler when I need it. But for some reason, no matter how hard I try, that never happens. I purge, clean, sort, organize and purge some more to my heart’s content, yet I still don’t know where the stapler is, and I even once lost my social security card for an entire year until I finally found it tucked somewhere safe and completely illogical.
I know precisely when I will need the stapler, because it’s written right here in my little blue planner on my next actions list. I will need to staple together my math homework on Monday. My math homework is entry #12 on the list, and the due date is 7/6/09. I can see that it’s not done yet, because the box next to it does not contain a perfect little checkmark. I know I need to send a thank you card to Mr. and Mrs. So and So, who were invited to my wedding as a party of four, because they have two kids named Johnny and Mary. I also know that they did RSVP and they are from out of town, and they gave us the lovely gift of a gift card for this exact amount, and I can see that I haven’t yet sent them a thank you card because the little box is not filled in with a checkmark yet in my thirteen column wedding excel spreadsheet. I could tell you exactly what park we will be visiting in Disney World on which day and where we plan to eat at precisely what time and even what I intend to order, because that is all in my Disney World spreadsheet. Yet I still have a pile of laundry on my bed that has resided in hampers for quite some time, and I have no idea where my stapler is.
Aren’t humans strange contradictions?