My Organize Gene is Broken

Once upon a time ago there was this little girl that lived in a castle and her maid would tidy her room. So it wasn’t exactly a castle and it sure wasn’t a maid. But my room got cleaned.

I can’t decide if I wasn’t born with the “organize your world and keep it clean” gene or if it got broke sometime after I was born. I look at mess as a collective chaos of happy thoughts running amuck in its own little journey. Or maybe mess attracts me. Either way I’m always in the thick of it.

My best friend loved to clean, still does, but now she lives a million miles away. Otherwise known as a few states away and to far to help me clean. Growing up Kelly would come over and she was like the Tasmanian devil of cleanliness. She was in and out of my room before I could even return from the kitchen with snacks, I was all about the food.

I’m thankful she always made my room neat and tidy. I would call her and ask her, where’s my shoes, her reply, the closet. This for some reason would always come as a surprise to me.

Now I’m all grown up and I want my best friend to come over and clean my closet. She does it better than me. She knows shoes go in the closet.

Can this mad organizing skill be taught. Can my broken gene be fixed or replaced. Maybe I find a way to become rich and famous so I can hire a maid or fly my best friend into help me. Here’s to the chaotic mess finding a way to be okay with being the storm and never the calm.

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