I organize. It’s what I do, particularly in the home environment. I’ve been like this since I was little. My earliest memories of it were drawing out bedroom floor plans to show my dad how I wanted my furniture to be rearranged. My closet consists of my wardrobe ascending from least to most skin coverage. I’ve also been known in the workplace to clear out and reorganize everything. I can’t help it.
A major assumption is that I’m a control freak when people learn I have a knack for being organized. I’m
actually quite laid back. I’m so laid back, in fact, that I can’t afford to be
disorganized. The inability to find something and the stress of pondering if
such item exists in my home disrupts my time of being in sitting and laying
down positions.
I do it naturally and I’m good at it. I’ve tried to let
things stay chaotic. I’ve tried to have a junk drawer, to let the Tupperware
containers stay without their partner lid, and for my tank tops to be mixed in
between cardigans. It’s not happening. It makes me happy and comes easy to me,
so I guess there is just no changing me.
No comments:
Post a Comment