Every thought is muddled,

My house is a mess,

Writing is muddled,

I don’t know what to address.

 

Get up and put your things away,

Let a thought begin to take form,

Dust your possessions and put them in array,

Like a ship emerging from a storm.

 

Bring order out of chaos in my life,

Start by what’s behind my front door,

Let clear thought combat my strife,

Finish by sweeping the floor.

 

In my own little pocket of ordered space,

I can sit down and really think,

My problems and prospects to truly face,

To climb their heights or to their depths sink.

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First and most importantly, I’ve come up with a name for the exclusive club that is people that have actually noticed me, henceforth you shall be known as Refielders!  With that hugely important and necessary diversion out of the way, buckle up and prepare your cognitive faculties Refielders, we’re going in deep again!  But, you don’t come here for fluffy feel-good foolish bits of English you can later fling out your food-holes, do you?  No, you’re better than that.  Probably.  So here’s the thing, you should clean your room.  Those who know me (hi Ma) will no doubt be snickering at that sentence or possibly its source.  I realize that my position to prescribe regular room cleaning is about as firm as Hillary Clinton lecturing us on cybersecurity, but just try to hold the tongue lashing in for a second please.  This prescription is just as much for me as everybody else floating in the despondent sea of myopic near misery and listlessness racked by indecision and a lack of anything to commit to.  Here’s the thing: most of that myopic lack of emotion is really a lack of order in your life.  Unsurprisingly, if you live in an environment that’s filled with garbage and cobwebs, it’s going to be just a little bit less difficult to order your thoughts than it would be to find evidence of Russian involvement in the 2016 election.  As it turns out, ordering where you live actually has a profound effect on your psychological state, and as a life-long procrastinator, that particular red pill has been a little difficult to swallow.  Having finally accepted it, I feel like it was forcibly inserted into my rectum by a sadistic psychologist, but at least it’s a metaphorical pill rather than a literal one.  The really profound thing I’ve found, is that nothing raises my spirits quite like the completion of any task.  It is physical manifestation of my efficacy in the world, and I advise you to make an attempt at it as well.  Especially if you’re  a chronic procrastinator like me.

 

As always, feel free to discuss below, we’re still a small blog, but you could change that by sharing it with friends you think would like to join in the discussion.  Every comment gets approved as soon as I can get to it, and nobody gets deleted or banned.

 

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