A Life Of Imperfection

I don’t know why I feel the need to control my environment, but I do. Maybe it would come out, after $200/hour in counseling, that it’s a response to my parent’s divorce, 20 years ago. Or maybe it’s just genetic: my mom and her brother Dave exhibit similar behaviors. We compulsively sort, rearrange, reconstruct, preserve. It’s all about order, I think.

Kids change things. That forces me to confront this desire on a daily basis: how much am I willing to accept? Here, in the bathroom, I’m surrounded by random things: two water-friendly Barbies, a variety of hair ties, toothbrushes, pens. Why do we have pens in the bathroom? Just wondering.

The bedrooms are torn apart. Occasionally, we take time putting them back together – but what’s the point, really? I wish I could accept things differently. I can’t. Combine caffeine, and the feeling of being cooped-up, and my back stiffens. I have to consciously tell myself to lean back, breath, and relax. If I wanted things perfect, I would need to live alone.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
This entry was posted in Course Navigation. Bookmark the permalink.

Please share your thoughts!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s