Disorganized

I just spent the last two hours trying to commandeer some sort of order in our second bedroom, which is more formally known as the computer/music/place we deposit all our junk we don't know what do with room. This room is so scary and disorganized it might take us weeks just to shred all the old documents we have lying around with defunct pin and credit card numbers. I won't even mention the terror that is our closet in that room, a little nook stuffed so violently full each excursion into it is one door-opening closer to a fatal avalanche. It's only been a year since we moved in and this is the monster we have created. Either Dominic or I need to suddenly grow a completely different personality in order to deal with this, a personality that eschews chaos and embraces things categorized alphabetically. But that's just wishful thinking for me. My jig was up in first grade, when my teacher had to order a special conference with my parents because she was so concerned with the state of my desk, which was monstrously messy, let me tell you. Weeks-old opened packs of crackers and busted rancid juice box messy. I know, ew.

Anyway, so I'm tired of this project already. Next!