An Unmade Bed

Last night at dinner my daughter in law pointed out that my shirt was on inside out. It had been that way for a few hours and for my trip to the store where once again I was tripped up thinking people were looking at me because I was cute. No… just loopy.

I am like an unmade bed. I am rumpled and messed, lumpy and lopsided. My whole life is like this. When I get up in the morning my bed looks like three people sleep in it. Covers are on the floor, books and/or magazines are everywhere, sometimes there are cookie crumbs. Usually three of the six pillows are on the floor too, sometimes landing on my old dog who lies next to my bed. If not in his crate, my little dog is next to me somewhere, sometimes under whatever cover is still on the bed, sometimes on a pillow like the king. Middle dog got tired of pillows and books landing on him and legs kicking him long ago. He sleeps somewhere safe.

I get up and feed animals, grab my coffee and stagger back to my messy room. Sometimes I try to straighten the bed. Sometime I wait for my coffee to kick in. My clothes are scattered about. I do hang them up… but they always come back to the bench, the dresser, the floor. I don’t know how that happens.

I shower, brush teeth, apply makeup and fix my hair. I never look in the mirror again. My hair is long and thick, really, thick, still-I never run another brush through my hair all day. Sometimes at work, I tie it in a knot and hold it up with a pencil. When I remove the pencil it just falls where it will. When my son is around, he will remind me. Mom- Hair. Mom- lipstick. I just forget. It’s not that I’m not vain- I surely am. I just forget. Sometimes on weekends, I forget to brush my hair until bedtime.

My kitchen counters are cluttered. Coffee pot, toaster, mixer, Buddha, bills, coupons, Lysol, doggie meds, syringes, soaps, cleaning supplies, cleaning supplies, cleaning supplies. In spite of my clutters, I have a phobia about germs.

My office is the worst. It’s the toss it in there room. I recently straightened it out. I hauled two large garbage bags of papers out. Copies of stories, printed and reprinted while I comb for errors that I will inevitably miss anyway. Another dead tree with my name on it.

My brain is scattered. Throughout the day I will have conversations in my head. Or, I should say my characters will have conversations in my head. I use their voices. I say things just like they would. Male, female, animal… it matters not. In North Carolina I used to walk in the woods and have out loud conversations. The woods aren’t as convenient here.

Sometimes when people are talking to me, I’m not really listening. I am hearing my characters instead. It’s messy. I always have to say- I’m sorry, what was that you said? Sometimes my sister Angie catches me. Are you there? She asks.

Once in a while I think: what if I get hit by a car and someone has to go through my stuff? Then I clean. I clean drawers and fold everything nice. I toss old scraps of crap I can’t remember why I saved in the first place. I would hate for my sisters to be going through my stuff and saying to each other- wow she was more disturbed then I thought. My son would understand. He is the same- without the germ phobia. But he would be days on end trying to make sense of my scribbles and scrawls, my meaningless doodles.

I have friends who are neat and orderly. My friend Diane packs a suitcase that looks like she had an engineer draw up plans for. Honestly. I know her cabinets are organized. I’ve never seen them because she lives in Texas-I just know it. Her hair is always neat too. Her clothes are not wrinkled or inside out either. My sister Linda spends hours getting her hair perfect or cleaning and organizing. She even gets paid to organize people. My sister Angie has perfect closets. She straightens her shoes. I just toss mine in and close the door quick, well occasionally anyway, when I put them away at all. Most of my friends are normal to neat. Why they like messy me I couldn’t say.

My mind goes from one subject to another without my permission. Research always takes me on a road trip with no map. I like it this way though. I like my brain hopping all over the place and looking for answers to questions I haven’t asked yet. It is messy, I know. But I think it has to be this way. I imagine some would say that sloppiness and creativity do not have to go hand in hand. And I agree. But...maybe for me - not being all about the material helps open up space for some creativity and crazy stuff that would not find it's way to me if I were busy matching socks.

I am like an unmade bed. But I am comfortable.