jakorte's blog

8/12.
The solar porch light flares on with a definitive soft click, startling me from my book pages. 8:30 pm and… sigh... the sun is setting. Pool days are fading, too. It’s inevitable, I know. Soon, I’ll be back to running music and myself on the elliptical every day instead of just on those days weather prohibits even an early evening swim. I suppose, given that fall is looming and winter is coming, it seems like I may have wasted some precious sun-time this weekend moving haphazard boxes filled with undecided fate, miscellaneous ownerships and unfinished projects out of sight. I do plan on plowing through those piles of lost-time reminders this winter; same as I did last winter with mild half-success. With winter not that far off, why did I choose this weekend? Without warning, a surprisingly significant and stunning easy answer arrives.

Two years is an awfully long time to dally over organization. My newly acquired extra drawers and storage space aren’t meant to accommodate some of my long-time failures. Crafts I’ve meant to create, writing I’ve meant to transcribe, collections I’ve meant to log. I’m searching for a sense of order. I want to fill the empty spaces with intelligent plotting, assignment, not with irrational random. So, instead, it all gets dragged away. And although hiding my chaos in closets merely projects an image of order, it helps relieve the stress and avoid being further weighed down by piles of visual self-let-downs. That is mighty medicinal.

I know, of course, I’m only hiding my imperfections from others; not myself. Temporarily out of sight, but not so much out of mind. I am holding to the new subscription of this belief: project the image you want to become, and you will. I want to become caught up with and caught up in my own life again.