If I told you the judgements I hold in my black heart for people who have pigsty desks you would think I was immoral. How can they breathe or think or move or feel in the midst of all that stuff, I think.
I suppose my harsh and steadfast need for pristine surfaces and un-overstuffed closets has to do with the clutter that’s occupied my mind for most of my life. The way it overflows itself, without my permission, into reality and pierces the here and now. Clutter equals trouble, to me. Clutter makes a mess of things when left untended. Clutter gives an otherwise calm and loving girl a run for her money when it comes to keeping her confused and effortful spirit tethered to the ground.
Yours In Wide Open Spaces,
Nancy No Knick-Knacks