Closet Confession

Every time I walk into my closet, I feel relief and a little bit of hope. It is an odd sensation, but looking at my closet makes me feel like everything is going to be all right. With a little bit of work and baby steps, things will become orderly and make sense.

Let me explain. My house is a mess. Slovenly comes to mind. It creeps up on me, and I get overwhelmed. Suddenly the dish in the sink becomes twenty. The two or three letters on the table become three weeks of unopened mail (Note: USPS is not a reliable way of reaching me). The shoes on the rug by my front door become a heap representing the amount of footwear for a small village. And then there is the table – along with the mail is a collage of scarves, gloves, books and DVDs to return to the library, and all sizes and colors of purses surrounded by chairs enveloped with all the coats I own. The task of cleaning becomes seemingly insurmountable.

The next difficulty comes when I actually start the cleaning. The previous paragraph of battle zones diverts me. Before I can vacuum, I need to pick up the shoes; before I can clean the table, I need to open and file away all of the mail, reorganize my wall of purses (yeah, I said wall - socks, purses, and underwear are my favorite things to collect with fourth prize going to shoes, have you seen my blue, rhinestone, Chinese heels?), and hang up my jackets and stack the scarves and gloves in their cubbies while wondering if I should just start using paper plates. So stage one of cleaning becomes organizing, filing, and putting back everything to its right place. I get stuck in stage one.

This weekend I started upstairs, avoiding the pitfalls of the table downstairs from the start. I unpacked my suitcases from my trip out to Portland and redistributed the proper travel accoutrements to their specific travel bags. Next I cleaned off my bathroom counter by throwing, shelving and stuffing the cosmetic arsenal. Moving rooms, I filed away all the bills I had on my computer desk. Then I packed away all of the clean clothes. The whole time I was packing away my clothes, I was wondering if I should organize them. I knew it would be a huge diversion, so I just stuffed the socks into their drawer without separating them according to holiday and then arranging them by color.

Scanning the floor and rods, I grabbed every unemployed hanger, throwing them into the now barren basket and delaying only minutes dividing the pants from the skirts and separating the shirts by sleeve length. Straying a bit more, I stripped the mattress, comforter and pillows of their covers, smothering the hangers. Back on task, I began folding the clothing bags and boxes for removal and shoveling the clothes on the closet floor into the now engorged basket. Then, I saw something weird and noticed something uncanny: my closet has carpeting.

Utterly in shock at the development, I had to take a break and re-orientate myself. Later, I opened my closet door, and the sigh of accomplishment and relief was probably heard down the road. Yes, I knew the socks and underwear were all heaped together in their respective drawers; I understand bras really aren’t meant for tie rack hooks; I acknowledge not all of the clothes fit; and, I know I still have work to do, but I had carpeting. It was unperfect (excuse the term), but after closing the door and jumping into a newly made bed, I realized it was a start, a step in the right direction of cleaning up my life.