Orderly

I often feel like a colossal screw-up (those resolutions? failfailfailfailfail), but there’s one thing I’m actually doing, well, well. People, it’s been nearly two weeks and my room is still clean. You don’t understand. I haven’t had a clean room for two weeks straight since forever. It feels so good, I could do a cartwheel across my (clutter-free!) floor if I knew how to do a cartwheel. It’s like I’m a new person. Ask me if you could borrow a pair of pajama pants. Do it! “Michelle, can I borrow a pair of pajama pants?” SURE, SECOND DRAWER TO THE RIGHT OF THE WORKOUT PANTS! Magical, isn’t it? Pet me.

I would describe in detail how monumental this is for me, but my brain is pretty fried this week. Post holiday/magazine production wipe-out, I suppose. Though I think this post from my old blog wraps it up nicely. Read and cringe.

February 1, 2006

It was today I learned that I am a mess. Sure, I’ve made this realization a thousand times before, but it was never so clear, never so paralyzing. Today, it was like the clouds parted and an echoing voice boomed down saying, “Michelle………..you are a mess.”

It all started this morning at work when I went to answer the phone and the entire phone lifted up off the table because the cord had somehow tangled into a small mass. As I listened to the PR lady on the line ramble on, scrambling to find a pen underneath my piles of papers, post-its and lipglosses WHILE THE ENTIRE PHONE WAS DANGLING FROM MY EAR, my eyes slowly gazed from cubicle to cubicle. Then it hit me. Nobody EXCEPT ME has a telephone cord that is tangled into a small mass!!! I realized that normal grown-ups are perpetually detangling their phone cords. If they see that it has become twisted, they will gracefully unwind it in an effort to prevent clunky mishaps such as, say, an entire phone dangling from their ear.

Or perhaps it was this afternoon, when I decided to take the long way to the elevator so that I could make a stop at the water fountain to refill my bottle. The moment I stepped through the elevator doors, I let out an audible “Awww shiiiiet” as I looked down at my bottle and saw that it was empty.

And what kind of normal human being decides to hold in her pee because she’s too lazy to untie the new sequin wrap belt she spent a minute triple knotting? No, no normal human being does this. Only me.

Sigh. My desk is a mess, my room is a mess, and my life – oh my poor pathetic life, is a deep dark hole of disorganization, forgetfulness, thoughtless actions and mess. (P.S. This post has no fluidity. It’s a mess, too.)

Through the years, people have tried intervention. For my birthday a few years ago, my roomies Natasha and Lisa guided me through a scavenger hunt with “tasks” that included taking out the trash and washing the dishes. Desiree bought me a Little Miss Scatterbrain book. I never got the hint. I just found it endearing. A couple weeks ago, Megan crawled beneath my desk and picked up scraps of my lunch as we searched for a missing bracelet. And Matt made me a magnetic board labeled “receipts” and “bills.” Of course, disregarding its purpose and functionality, I used it to display old party pics.

I believe that organization can make your life cleaner and richer. If I had some in my life, maybe I would’ve been accepted into a higher ratio of colleges — you don’t know how many times in high school I murmured to my neighbor “Huh? What homework?” Maybe this is why I have fallen off the path to stardom, settling now for the title of Second-Most Famous Michelle Woo in the World, according to Google.

I lack all the qualities necessary for entering adult society. And yet I am here, clinging on for dear life. I’m surprised I haven’t spontaneously combusted due to an OD on flaming hot cheetos (I lack self-control) or bled to death from a paper cut while handling the countless parking tickets I’ve racked up in my driving career (I can’t keep track of time).

Why am I like this? You can only blame your parents so much. And even my little sister has a day planner. Whatever, the reason, it seems almost too late to fix me.

What should I do? New Year’s resolutions never work. Neither does sitting next to my ridiculously meticulous co-workers. Should I tell my parents to send me to the military? It’d be cool to get a crew cut. I’d never have to brush my hair. Though I forget to do that anyway.