This isn’t really a big surprise to me, I know that order makes me happy. However, it is not just I like order, I cannot bear disorder. Many eons ago when the dancer was less tidy than she is now I had to sleep in her bed (think of the inside of one of those kaleidoscopes where little bits of coloured paper fly everywhere and multiply it a thousandfold and you have a vague hint of the disorder that once was her bedroom). It was those heady days when, during the course of the night various small people would crawl into our bed, I gave up fighting for space and crawled into her bed. I lay there and tossed and turned and couldn’t understand why I couldn’t relax and then it hit me (in all likelihood quite literally there was that much stuff about), I couldn’t relax because I knew that I was lying in the middle of the mother of all disorders. So at 2.00am I got up and tidied up, I then returned to bed and drifted peacefully off to sleep. Over the years of living with the dancer, the runners, the boss and an awful lot of animals I have had to evolve and adapt, but inside there is a metronome beating out a nice steady and ordered rhythm and yesterday one look at my desk sent it into apoplexy.
This was why I wasn’t getting any work done, this was why I was high on displacement actvity. The filing was the first to go, swiftly followed by several bills and for a nice balance paying in several cheques. A swift dust and some flowers and a candle and suddenly my desk was mine again and I promptly rattled off two hours of work.