So I've been sitting and thinking and wanting to start another journal, but as usual have no idea where to begin. H is talking about physics and I'm staring at a white box with no clue if I have anything to say. Lovely.

I feel a distinct need to get organized. Don't get me wrong there is a big part of me the revels in my disorganization. I've always heard that your living space is a refelection of what's going on in your mind. Which in my case can best be described with two words: clutter & chaos. And when it comes to my head, I embrace that state of being most of the time. Yes there are times when it is a royal pain in the ass. It makes me a procastinator, which makes me stressed out, which occassionally leads to a meltdown.

But honestly...isn't it better than the alternative? I witness that alternative every day of my life in my family, and in many others as well. They are the opposite of chaos. They are clean, calm, on track, and basically restricted. There's nothing wrong with living that way I suppose, just seems boring to me. I would tear my hair out.

But the thing is I can appreciate that they are this way. It's not my choice (though in truth I don't believe that these things are choices, I think they are innate), but I can respect them for who they are. But they are unable to do the same for me. If I am happy and content, shouldn't they just be able to be happy for me? Is that so much to ask? Must I always get looked down upon by them because I choose to live in a different way? Because my personality does not mesh perfectly with theirs?

I don't know why I care, but I can't shake it entirely. If I don't want to invite you into my house because it's messy because I do not choose to spend every waking hour cleaning it, then SO BE IT! It would really be scary if I ever got up the nerve to tell my mother and sister what I really think about how they live. Because there is part of me that believes the reason they are both so anal and so perfect and spend all their time doing that banal stuff is because they have nothing better to do.

I may be cluttered and chaotic, in my head and in my house, but it just means I have a million things swirling around at all times. I'd rather be full of ideas with a house full of stuff everywhere, than to be vacant.

People like my mother and sister would come into my house and see nothing more than a mess. And to them that means laziness. To me it means my focus is eleswhere. Anybody who knew me or was even like me, would come into my house and...they would see me. They would see the inside of my mind spilled out in between four walls.

Even just a look at my desk would tell you everything you need to know about me. It's a mess. A huge fucking mess. But it's all here. If I had batteries in my digital I would take a photo right now. But I can describe it.

The top shelf of the hutch has probably 6 cameras on it. An ancinet Brownie, my old Canon instamatic, my digital, an old Polaroid, and a few more. A tie-dyed teddy bear, a metal NY Yankees lunchpail, a picture of me & S. from woodstock. A candle, a cheap little dollar store figurine thing of Beethoven (a paperweight? not sure), an old pack of Bicycle playing cards and an old metal can of Snakebite medicine (both confiscated from my grandmother's house after her passing).

The shelves of the hutch ar crammed with bills and folders, old address books, manuals to work various *stuff*, and lots and lots of film envelopes. LOTS!

On the actual desk - an Italian/English dictionary, "The Missing Cat", Blender magazine open to an article about books on Ipod playlists, and a folded piece of white computer paper - on one side, mine & S.'s attempt make laminted lists, on the other, a Camper Van Beethoven playlist. All of this is stacked in one pile. The rest of the top of the desk is pretty much junked. Tape, stapler, empty cigarette pack, jewlery, sunglasses, cd's, toys, pictures, negative sleeves, crackers, loose change, some paint, my watch and finally my coffee mug.

And there you go....all of that....that's pretty much me. One look at my desk and you can see inside my head.



Soundtrack: some Killers song stuck in my head