“Always do your best,” they said.

I read this chapter-title in a book this morning:

Perfectionism–>Procrastination–>Paralysis

I ate lunch downtown with a friend today. When I got home, I moved my laptop to my office to write.  I spent the next hour checking email, catching up on the other blogs I read, and trying to figure out if I’ve already written about procrastination.  I don’t think so.

I have lists of things I want to do. Where and how to start is the easy part. At least 7 “How To Organize” books sit in random bookcases in my house.  I’ve read them all.  I even have one called Making Room for God, Clearing Out the Clutter.  It lives in the pile of books beside my bed, I think.

I know about purging and sorting and donating and “when did you last wear/use this?”.  I pulled clothes off hangers and out of drawers.    Should I take them to Goodwill, Salvation Army, the Disabled Vietnam Vets’ thrift store or the halfway house for moms with addictions?  What’s the best thing to do?  They’re still on the floor of a closet in my bedroom.

Perfectionism–>Procrastination–>Paralysis

I explored The Container Store in Raleigh for the 1st time in April.  Oh. My. Goodness.  I drooled over the elfa (“Everything Can Be Organized”) Storage System.  It can be custom-designed for closets, pantries, drawers, and offices.  I bought a few (cheap, not elfa) boxes and containers for my office shelves and drawers.  What’s the best way to use them?  Some (not all) are still in the bag behind the closet door.

Perfectionism–>Procrastination–>Paralysis

My husband has very little patience with people who put things off.  That’s not his way.  One way he deals with stress is to reorganize the garage.  He used to do the same thing to his office.  He retired 2 years ago.

Now it’s my kitchen.  I organized my kitchen 20 years ago.  Cooking tools always lived in the same place and I didn’t have to think much to cook.  Now, like a stupid cartoon, we fight over where my casseroles and pot lids are and whether I ever actually use loaf pans (“I might”, I say.)  Random items completely vanish.  I am not in control.

I’m really afraid he will go to my office next.

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Why I Don’t Wear Eyeliner

(I used to blame my mother for this stuff.  Of course.  But she couldn’t teach what she didn’t know.  So now do I blame my grandmother?)

I don’t know how to put on eyeliner.  Not the liquid kind like India ink or the soft pencil kind you smudge.  I like my eyes.  They look good behind glasses with eyeliner, like Sarah Palin.  I wore eyeliner for both my daughters’ weddings so my eyes would look big in the pictures.  Someone else put it on for me.  That felt very weird and icky.

I don’t know how to keep a tidy house.  My parents had 3 kids in 3 1/2 years.  (That was before The Pill.)  My dad traveled each week for work.  My mother went into a tidying/cleaning frenzy on Fridays, before my dad came home.  Clutter feels natural to me.  I’d like to be neater and more organized.  It does happen in occasional bursts.

I don’t know how to be a good friend.  My mom didn’t really have friends.  We moved a lot–4 elementary schools in 3 states, 1 junior high, and 2 high schools, 1 in Ohio and 1 in NC.  I always thought, “This time we’ll stay put.”  My dad kept getting better jobs, so we packed up again and moved.  I made friends each time, then said goodbye.

I gave up on eyeliner.  And consistent tidiness.  I won’t do things I’m not good at.

I have friends now, even Facebook friends.  I want to be a more skillful friend.  I’m inconsistent about connecting and I’m very selective about who gets inside my walls.  I need and enjoy lots of time alone.  My friends seem to understand.

I’ve lived in this NC town for over 30 years.  I don’t plan to leave.  It’s home.

We’ve had our house for over 20 years.  It smells like us when you walk in.  It’s home.

How odd.