The mess
Sometimes I have a feeling, that if I sort things that are around me (clothes neatly set in piles in drawers, yarns in bags by colours, beads by size and colour in boxes, books by authors on shelves and all the trash thrown away), I’ll be able to sort my life and thoughts.
So why do I panic, when I see a pile of stuff to sort? I always postpone those actions for as long as I’m able to, and then finally i put everything in one big box and lock it away until the next time when I have to use it. It can go on forever. I can’t find enough strenght or will to sort things, to clean the great mess which never ends. Maybe my subconciousness is afraid that when all the stuff is already sorted, I’m going to have to make more difficult decisions. Or maybe I’m just making excuses for being lazy.
