a day in topiaville

I am totally disorganized. But in a totally organized way. My room looks like piles of stuff, but I tend to remember in what direction I throw bills, or health insurance stuff, or receipts, or letters, or whatever.

Occasionally I try to organize. Which is great. My room is all shiny and big.

But then stuff like this happens:

Last weekend I organized the shit out of my room. It sparkles. It shines. I can see the floor. I got an organization folder thingy where I keep pay stubs and other stuffs I might need. I moved bookshelves. I DUSTED. All in all, it was really exciting.

Then last night I got home and was like, “oh I need to call my insurance company about this random bill.” (routine eyecare—no worries, y’all, I’m just being charged when I should be covered.) So I was like, “I threw the letter over here.” Except that area was now COMPLETELY CLEAN. Because of the organizing. And I was like, “FUCK FUCK where did I put it???” So I start going through things, and there are only a few piles left of “sort through this stuff” and I dashed them to the four winds looking for this bill. And then I was like “WHERE CAN IT BE I don’t have anywhere else to look I CLEANED everything!!!”

And then I go “oh wait.”

And I go look in the organizational folder, in the front section that I dubbed “To-Do.”

Ta. Da.

This is why I don’t clean or organize. I always outsmart myself.


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