Organ-ized (Randyjw; March 15, 2017)
I suffer a bit from the feeling of being overwhelmed when my environment has too many objects (or ideas or problems, etc.) crowding into my space. I seem to require a feeling of elbow room in order to function freely, and this may extend to relational interactions with people in my life, as well, while simultaneously desirous of an also “Klingon” relationship, of stuck-to-the-side inseparableness involving constant togetherness. Is that even healthy? I think not. At the moment, though, even the thought of it is making me go, “Aack”!
Some people feel comfortable hiding among the piles of clutter that they build up around themselves. I’d even started to appreciate, after a while, this style of junkyard charm which developed around my landlord’s self-sufficient style of cheap fixes for more significant problems. It resonated with the bit of kitsch in me that underlies a more refined style, but speaks to that appeal, just the same. I sometimes ask people to inform me if I start veering off toward sequin-glitter and Americana-inspired lawn ornaments or wind mobiles; but, you know what? That’s cool. I can equally talk a conversation about the monochromatically shaded designs of an Architectural Digest entry or a Donna Karan fashion wardrobe, as easily as the delight I express at the wonderful deals found at the discount store and in a better brand of generic medicine than I’ve found over any name brand kind.
I always wished that the beauty of this Balkanized landscape of intertwined vines and thorny fern, supportive of the bees and the butterflies which drank from the flowering nectar, would be manicured and pruned and cut back from its overbearing nature. I spent lazy minutes in the chair under the shade of an enormous tree, bleeding its excesses all over the front lawn and into the house, in quiet moments of communion with nature and nothingness — just escape into the present, free from worries of the future, or problems of the past.
And then, the cover was removed. I felt, suddenly, vulnerable and unprotected. The overgrowth that I’d melted slowly with as a metaphoric haven hiding my physical presence was torn away, by the second-flipped succession of owners to have since taken over the property. At the moment, I still find that the transmogrative changes taking place exemplify a metamorphical transformation of visual personification: the barren front yard, hinting at the wisp of the beauty it once was; tarps installed as privacy barriers from close-set eyes of prying neighbors only feet away now removed to bare it all; random doors torn from unknown homes, with no potential present purpose other than to block the path of egress, or some forlorn regret.
When all the world is a stage that lies at your very door, take cognizance of what that really represents and how it is presented to the world.
My laugh is, sometimes, bittersweet.