Bizzaro World
For as long as I can remember, my parents have always complained about my organizational skills. I remember so many school mornings in elementary and middle school where I madly ran about the house, looking for the missing shoe, or the field trip permission slip. Teachers sent home notes at least once a week, begging my parents to force me to clean out my school desk (in my defense, it wasn't gross, just...filled with papers and books). Eventually, the shoe would be found, and the desk would be cleaned. I never lost anything, just, temporarily misplaced.
I likened my organizational system to the one Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler had. Something so secret that she (I) was the only person in the world who could understand it. Whenever an object needed to be found, it was to be done in solitude, so that no one could possibly discover my methods. My parents thought my system was much less romantic; they thought none existed at all.
They complained complained complained complained complained. Occasionally, they would to the job themselves, straighten out my room, get rid of loose papers, drawings, stories. I'd be so annoyed I wouldn't speak for the rest of the day. How was I supposed to find the treasures that they had thrown out again?
Over the years, my system has evolved...a little. Books stand vertically on shelves, and clothes are mostly held in dressers. Papers (while not in evil evil evil files) are in a desk drawer. But, I still found it odd when today my mother gave this compliment.
"You know, over the years, I've come to appreciate your organizational skills," she paused, trying to find correct phrasing. "With Tom finishing applying to school, he can't do anything for himself. Paperwork, schedulings, anything. I've been doing it all, and, its,...frustrating. With you, you just handed us the finished paperwork and asked me to sign a check. You scheduled and went to meetings by yourself. You did it all."
And that was it. She finished and left the room to go make lunch, leaving me with my mouth gaping open.
I likened my organizational system to the one Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler had. Something so secret that she (I) was the only person in the world who could understand it. Whenever an object needed to be found, it was to be done in solitude, so that no one could possibly discover my methods. My parents thought my system was much less romantic; they thought none existed at all.
They complained complained complained complained complained. Occasionally, they would to the job themselves, straighten out my room, get rid of loose papers, drawings, stories. I'd be so annoyed I wouldn't speak for the rest of the day. How was I supposed to find the treasures that they had thrown out again?
Over the years, my system has evolved...a little. Books stand vertically on shelves, and clothes are mostly held in dressers. Papers (while not in evil evil evil files) are in a desk drawer. But, I still found it odd when today my mother gave this compliment.
"You know, over the years, I've come to appreciate your organizational skills," she paused, trying to find correct phrasing. "With Tom finishing applying to school, he can't do anything for himself. Paperwork, schedulings, anything. I've been doing it all, and, its,...frustrating. With you, you just handed us the finished paperwork and asked me to sign a check. You scheduled and went to meetings by yourself. You did it all."
And that was it. She finished and left the room to go make lunch, leaving me with my mouth gaping open.