CHANGE

The other day I fell into a fit of home organization, the kind that no thing or person can tame. I have them time and again. Before then, I would go to my neglected linen closet to get a new set of towels, cringe, and wish the mess away with a quick click of the door shut. The pillowcases were mixed in with the linen napkins. The screwdriver sat on a shelf with the sheets (safer there than in the hands of my toddler). The hand towels were intermingled with the bath towels.

All I kept thinking was, “What will my friends think of me if I suddenly drop dead, and they come over and see how I’ve let things go?”

When the fitted sheets were neatly folded into the almost impossible to achieve squares. When the hand towel pile was neatly arranged, with folds facing inwards in descending color order. When the items that didn’t really belong in the linen closet were returned to their original spaces— I breathed a sigh of relief.

I actually called my friend and told her about my neuroses.  We had a good laugh. A real, genuine laugh. Then I hung up the phone, sat in my car’s leather seat with the butt warmer on, and felt kind of sad.