nonfiction

the key is to not let it get messy in the first place

I’m a fraud, but no matter.

The two extremes live inside of me: the desperate need to be isolated and weary, and the aching urgency to be productive and extraverted. My mother says it’s not a bad thing. You know, Kait, you can be a lazy bum and hide away in your room for awhile, letting it get cluttered and dirty, but then something in you clicks and finally you’re out and about and you clean it up. You can never let it stay messy for long. And maybe it is a good thing that I’m neither a perfectionist nor a “lazy bum” twenty-four-seven. Maybe that’s how humans are supposed to be. But I called them extremes for a reason, and bouncing back and forth between the two is dreadfully exhausting.

As an amateur writer, it’s no surprise that I took what my mom said as a metaphor for my life. It gets messy, but yes, I do always clean it up. However, it’s what she always said afterwards that solidifies the theory that I’m doing it all wrong. But, if you just put your clothes away when you were done with them instead of throwing them on the floor, you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place.

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