Closing doors and restoring chaos.

I’m not a generally neat person. But I like to think that I have an eye for the abstract and for order. Chaos irritates me, but I like to get submerged in the disorder of things to find pattern and meaning.

I’m restless in the chaos. It eats me up, to the point that I spend copious amounts of time restoring the order. And cleaning up.

Doors that are left open, grass that grows unattended, dirty plates on the kitchen sink, toilet paper rolled the wrong way around, lights left switched on, litter all over the garden, piles of dirty clothes in the laundry baskets. All these chagrins, they grind my knuckles.

I’m fussy.