Tidiness

Cemetery in Little Britain, yesterday afternoon

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How nice it is to come home to a tidy apartment. I never gave much thought to how my parents kept the big house so clean. In fact my own untidiness was a constant source of conflict. Both of them nagged me about it. I never had trouble finding whatever I needed in my room and I can hear my own complaints echoed in the voice of 13-year-old Marian, who gets frustrated with the daily inspection of her dorm room by cleaning staff. When I told her last week how I had been enjoying reorganizing my office, her incomprehension was tangible. I understand why she thinks it's easier to live amid clutter. I felt that way all my life, because I disliked operating according to the expectations of others. But now that I have it this way—

Really, my apartment looks nothing like my parents' home. They're neat freaks. I don't need to be anal retentive to keep things orderly. A little clutter keeps the creative mind fertile. But it's nice to have everything in its place. To have surfaces where I can work without moving a heap of whatever. The longer you live, the more complicated life becomes, with bills and taxes to pay. Papers, papers, papers. I still have trouble keeping a handle on them. But having a good filing system simplifies the red tape of life.

I still have some outstanding issues about the apartment, things that need to be fixed, corrected and improved:

• Four boxes of sundry books, papers and common detritus require sorting. The contents must find a place in my files, drawers, basement or garbage.


• A shelf in one of the hall closets collapsed last week. I need to replace it.


• The closet in my office still contains my art papers lying in a pile of rolls. Ideally I hope to install a series of wide shelves so the sheets can be laid flat.


• The bathroom door requires a new lock.


• I have too many clothes to fit in the closet and bureau. I never wear many of these items. I need to sort and make some brutal decisions about what to get rid of.

There are probably others, but these are the most important ones that come to mind. The clothes are the biggest problem, so I'll try to address it this week.

My new routine, assigning physical tasks to the morning, has been working tremendously. I adapted it easily when Brenna was here. I would still get up and write my morning pages first thing, then do some housework before we set about fun and games. In the evening when Brenna was reading, I would write. Despite the added demands on my time, I felt focused and invigorated.

Now that the bulk of reorganization is accomplished, I can start to set aside those morning slots (from 10:30 to noon) for other physical activities. I've been thinking of a balance something like this:

• working out at the gym: three mornings a week


• housecleaning: two


• walking: two

Maybe I'm a little anal retentive after all, trying to control my life hour by hour and day by day. No, it's not about control. I'm giving myself a pattern, the foundation of my life that is becoming. It is a matter of self-discipline, but intended to be flexible and even fun. I already enjoy walking and working out, and lately the housework has been satisfying, too. It's only painful when it gets overwhelming and interferes with my creativity.