In the afternoons I get super organized only to have it all be destroyed by the time I wake up. Honestly, I don’t know what my problem is – but judging by the people’s faces around me between the hours of 7am-9am, it’s most definitely a problem – or a disorder.

Let me paint you a picture. In the afternoons, I take time to make the bed so the comforter is nicely distributed to all corners, the pillows are at the top of the bed, the sheets don’t hang loose like a one-night stand frenzy. I put my clothes away – neatly folding each one so that a beautiful order of color exists. All the shoes are lined up and paired. All clutter is either tossed or neatly cluterized. There’s a sense of order. All my shit will be picked up from downstairs, no missing loads of laundry, dishes all put away. It’s great. Then I go to bed and the evil destroyer of all that is neat and organized comes to my room to play. When I wake up – it’s as though a small cyclone swept through my closet destroying everything I had so carefully spent my precious nighttime hours organizing. Damn you stupid evil cyclone!

What I wake up to is an entirely different world – especially as the week progresses. If you could draw a line graph of time (x) and room tidiness, there would be a severe decline right around Wednesday (see nifty chart I created because I geeked out on excel). All my clothes that I put on before deciding I wasn’t in the right mood for that particular sweater or those jeans don’t flatter me today – end up on the floor in a pile. Four out of the 6 pillows on my bed are now scattered on the floor. Dogan’s bed is a nice little roadblock to moving easily about the room, books are scattered, notes somehow didn’t stay in that neat little pile from the night before. Mittens, hats, scarves, slippers – where did they all go?! By midweek, it’s akin to rummaging in a sale pile at Macy’s – you can’t find anything you want.

Graphical Representation of Weekly Tornado Beth

This morning was particularly terrible. First off – it was cold. I commute to work by bike, so upon slogging out of bed, I pick up the tossed pair of leggings from the day before, put on the nearest tank top (also on floor), get some socks on (clean, thankfully), a few more layers and then turn to choosing my outfit for the day. Hmm. Half of my wardrobe is dressing the floor. I look to the hangers. No inspiration. The trouble with commuting by bike is that you don’t normally try on the outfits before you pick them – causing for the occasional mismatch at work. After stumbling through the clothes I picked and outfit, shoved it into my bag (at the same time emptying yesterday’s outfit & contents on to the nearest open spot on the floor). Grab cell phone, book, hat and slippers and trod downstairs.

Dogan is an early riser and bless his little heart – he lets me sleep in to an extent. After he is fed and watered, we head out for a short walk. Ah shit. Hello Portland – long time. It’s pouring rain. Cold rain = an incurable chill. I grab the only gloves I can find (didn’t I just have 4 pair in a drawer down here?), someone’s rain jacket and head out. It’s god awful weather the Pacific Northwest can have. I was not looking forward to biking in.

Back at the house I start preparing for the bike ride – waterproof booty covers for my clip-in shoes, a rain coat, cover on my backpack… when Jacob said he’d drive me in. Bless him! That means I’ll have to take the god awful bus home – but whatever, I won’t be chilled to the bone looking like a drowned rat when I arrive at work! As Jacob gets out of bed to drive me in, I start to change into my work clothes (now thankfully being able to see what I’d actually look like in the outfit I picked out). I grab a few other additions since I now have space in my bag – a book for the ride home, bus fare, a hat, scarf… gloves. Kiss the dog goodbye and wait… where are my keys!? Damnit! This always happens.

Jacob gives me a look of exasperation. Keys are not in my bike lock. Not on the front table. Where did I have them last? Happy hour? No – I had them on my evening walk with Dogan as I remember locking the door. I go upstairs to the clusterfuck that is my room. I won’t be able to find anything in here – it’s a complete mess. The comforter is hanging off onto the floor, clothes strewn about, it’s dark. I can hear Jacob starting the car. Shit. Think Beth. Where did you have them? I go down to the bathroom. Nope. Check my bag for the 3rd time. Nope. Living room? Nope. Ah ha! I find them sitting out in the open on the kitchen counter. I put the OJ back in the fridge that I forgot about and headed to the door – Jacob heading back inside to find out what I’ve been doing in the last 15 minutes. Quick kiss to Dogan and I’m out the door!

Seriously – if you know me or have spent any amount of time with me where I need my keys, phone or wallet – you will either be smiling to yourself right now saying, “yup, that’s Beth” or you’ll be cringing at bad memories of me holding something up while I search endlessly for something. I’ve grown a reputation apparently, which I just giggle at – knowing that it will probably only get worse with age.


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