by Hannah

From: Andrew Mellen
Topic: Organization
Question: When I look back over 2011 and think about how time, choices and objects have been organized, do I see harmony and ease? Did I seek out the natural place for things to land and rest? Where did I struggle to force things into literal or figurative containers? Do I recognize the order in the universe and see my life reflected in that order?

I have always considered myself someone with such poor discipline, life organization. Yet where am I today, in the last light of 2011? So much of my life – whether I admit it or not – is as I want it to be, or peddling fiercely in that direction. I struggle, I suffer, I spend money and time and energy on things I don’t care for, I fight and resist. And yet, I live in a small home with chickens and goats and a soulful dog, a partner with a sweet imperfection that matches me perfectly. I’ll be getting married in less than eight months. I am employed in a place where I am respected. And I am constantly changing within myself, creating my self. What more could I ask for? How could I say my organization of last year was at all flawed, when it brought me here, to this moment?

But still. Getting that second dog was a disaster. (Junebug, I hope your big bug eyes and your sweet loving self is persuading some lovely human with lots of energy to pluck you out of your cage and bring you home.) I probably should have waited, and done some more research. Also, building the fence before the goats arrived would have created less stress, too. And I could have organized my time to spend less time cleaning the house and more time splitting wood. Speaking of wood, when is it s’posed to snow around here? The soggy weather has made me lazy, and the firewood still topples in heaps on the bare ground like stumpy pick-up-sticks.

And the organization of transition. But that’s another egg to hatch some other day. Another feather to preen. Another rooster to soothe into comasleep with whispers of thanks and a meek invitation to another world, before grasping those warm, scaly legs in both hands as the machete is lifted…