“We should never underestimate our abilities to mess things up.” I found myself telling the guy across the cube aisle1 today. I felt I was speaking the most profound truth ever told and so I typed it down rapidly and stared at the majesty of the written word.
It made me think of the squallor that I proudly maintain in my home and car. Of how someday in the future I might be able to find my shaving kit or the missing CDs that are certainly hidden underneath piles of discarded hangers, junkmail, bill stubs, CDs, used books, VHS tapes, and laundry strewn disproportionately throughout my living spaces.
My Christmas tree lies disassembled like the aftermath of pruning, half-heartedly torn asunder on my foyer floor. File boxes intended for a grand organizational purpose are stacked empty six feet high in the office. Scattered files litter the floor around. A pile of VHS tapes surround the video equipment like Yertle’s stack of Turtles, waiting for the bottom tape to sneeze, if it only could.
The lumps of worn laundry in my bedroom cover the floor completely protecting the orange shag carpet from dirt and wear. While other laundry of the clean unfolded sort sneer down at their floor dwelling brethren with contempt from the mesa of the dresser and tables.
Assorted receipts and junkmail cover the foyer couches and the ledges going down into the den and the kitchen table and every other table like surface in the house. A tangle of hangers intermeshes with a bright orange extension cord on yet another couch while stacks of dishes and discarded beverage cans fill the kitchen.
My truck features a microcosm of disarray all to itself, mostly consisting of empty cans, bottles, and fast food cups. Receipts nest here as well, sneaking into the crevices between the seats to raise receipt families and hide the ear piece for my cell phone that must be rooted out if there is a need for it, the bolt stubs tear the skin on my hands leaving nicks on the knuckles.
One might say that I’m posing a health risk to myself by living in such a way, but that seems a little far-fetched. I’ve only slipped on folders twice and tripping over the Christmas tree in the night was an honest mistake. I managed to swerve back onto the road all three times my hand got stuck trying to dislodge that ear piece and the cardboard boxes in my majestic tower are all empty so what does it matter how many times they collapse on me?
Yes indeed, we should never underestimate our abilities to mess things up.
[1]He would probably prefer to be called Matt, but when you introduce a new character it is important to give them a context. Too bad he doesn’t appear in the rest of this piece or I would have mentioned his name without resorting to a footnote.
