I recently accepted that the notions, or perceptions, I have, as related to my personal organization, are perversely; as I once considered them, not necessarily in my best interest. This is an amalgam of my personality traits, emotionally speaking, that override my rational or intellectual desires. More plainly stated, all my efforts to minimize the time I spend on drudgery; those tasks necessary to produce the environment I prefer ( I'm a known slave to a place for all things, and all things in their place ), done to maximize the time I have for the things that bring me pleasure, inevitably produce the time I desire which I then spend on all the things everyone( we'll leave those names out for now ) else needs from me.
I noticed this after a recent trip. In the half hour after I returned home, I had reduced all the detritus generated on such journeys to their proper place; trash, hamper, closet, etc. I'm like that. Have been for the majority of my life. I like, very much so, a clean orderly home. I do not like to clean. This has been the source of much misunderstanding for those around me. On my own, and this is the BIG key to this whole sordid exercise, I arrange my things in such a manner as to make cleaning up as quick and painless as I can. This allows me the most bang for my buck as to my free, non cleaning time. The problem arises when I live with others, and as someone who likes being a family guy, sociable, that means most of the time. Others are not as cognizant of this tension as I am. They are, however, acutely aware of my dislike for disorder, and I believe, more than willing to use this against me for the purposes of getting out of doing their part to maintain the social order.
This, of course, is my fault. While one the one hand, striving to keep the place orderly and thus easy to clean, on the other, I don't weather those who are less inclined to putting their stuff away in a timely manner well. Consequently there is a frisson that continually animates my relationship with others. It has also; and this is the perverse part, rendered my free time, or what would have been my free time, time spent taking care of those things that I should make the others take care of themselves. I hope that makes sense.
The irony is that it took me how many thousands of years to accept this. Fool, heal thyself.
The question then becomes whether my proclivities are doable in an environment filled with others who may not share my sensibilities on this subject. If I strive to fulfill my destiny will I then end up nothing more than a bitter old troll no one wants to visit. That's probably a tad dramatic, as I am generally; at least in this my old age, more sanguine about the nature of my fellow humans and their disregard, whether willful or not. Still, I do dream of my utopia, free of the maelstrom of pilers, droppers, agitators, malcontents, slobs, the mal-formed, and those predisposed to the messy disorganized life. A land content with order and the freedom that provides; even if I'm the only one who appreciates it.
I'm not sure what the future holds, but I can dream. Can't I?
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