Order versus chaos

Kingsmill Avenue, March 5

Where does it come from: the gnawing fear that presses around whenever I'm not getting things done. No matter what I've accomplished in a day, it's the things I didn't do that weigh on the mind. Yesterday after having the new fridge delivered and the cable guy install high-speed internet, I felt uneasy about going out and leaving the kitchen in a shambles. Two years ago I wouldn't have blinked.

The house I grew up in was never untidy, except for my bedroom. My parents never left a single dirty dish in the sink at night. Once Dad pulled out the vacuum cleaner in the middle of a New Years Eve party because someone had stepped on a chip. Even the boxes in the workroom were piled neatly. Everything had its place.

This winter I've brought my apartment to an unprecedented degree of order. I don't want it immaculate. Manageable chaos is healthy and fertile.

So why the quick clench of panic? Because chaos has a habit of expanding. Because seeing the mess ooze across the floor reminds me of unhappier, lonelier times. I've been taking steps to get control of my life, and I dread the signs of surrender.