I have a reasonably well organised office and home, but there are certain untidy corners that I kinda feel must be left that way. It might be because:
I don’t want to feel my whole life is defined, streamlined, organised ... and sterilised of serendipitous possibility,
That those pockets of clutter illustrate a little bit of my own history – they are the detritus alongside the path by which I got to where I am today – (In other words, a record of part of my life)
I don’t want to look on my thoroughly organised life and say: “is that all there is?”
They are a reassurance that there is still hope that there will be other strings to my life – a half completed course that I still might finish, dusty old “Teach Yourself Italian” tapes, a few pencil sketches and the pencils that drew them.
Any other pet theories out there?