Despite being organized about my life with rules and principles, despite my desire for structure in most things, despite being on the game in regards to planning…

…I have always been unable to consistently keep my room neat.

Neat? A four letter word when it comes to my physical life.

To me, it’s an organized mess. I have gotten to an age where I am able to keep areas that are common to others rather organized and tidy. I become almost super anal when those areas are not organized. However, when it comes to my space—my room, my bed, my desk…all of those organized tactics go out the window.

My books are stacks all on the floor. My clothes in various states of wear—freshly laundered or newly purchased—are in stacks throughout my room. My papers—from tax forms to receipts to pamphlets—are here and there.

And yet somehow I am able to go through life in some organized fashion. At some point, I was embarrassed to show my room when people visited and I would deliberately close my door, only showing them my living room and kitchen. But now, I gesture to my room: this is me and you need to accept that is who I am.