Anyone who knows me will be utterly shocked by this confession, but I can't keep dissembling any longer. It's time for me to come out of the closet and peel off the mask. It's time to stop living a lie.
<deep breath...drumroll, please...>
Hello, one of my pseudonyms is Fauxy, which turns out not to be a very unique pseudonym, since according to my mother-in-law there are lots of other Fauxys out there in the blogosphere, but I digress, and that may be because I am trying to put off the moment of disclosure, which may be making some of you squirm, wondering just what horrendous monstrosity I'm planning to blurt, or on the other hand, it – 'it' meaning this tactic of delaying, by building up clauses – as I say, it may be because I am trying to illustrate, in a roundabout way, what I should really just come right out and say as succinctly as possible, so let's try this again:
Hello, my name is Tanya, and I AM A SCATTERBRAIN.
I know, I know: you are shocked and appalled. You are imagining secret stashes of clutter in my otherwise moderately clean house. You are envisioning double-booked events, missed deadlines and unpaid bills that I have somehow managed to conceal from everyone who might care about these things – and you're wondering how I've thus far managed to escape the consequences of my lifelong dalliance with chaos.
But I'm not talking about mere messiness, or even irresponsibility.
In many ways, I'm a pretty 'together' gal. My house, my social life, my work schedule, my finances – they're all in decent order. In fact, to many eyes, I probably look like a model of organization.
That's because I'm compensating.
It's actually my brain that's disorganized.
Which is why, if I want to make any sense out of the crazy mishmash of miscellany that's constantly doing the macarena in my head, I have to compose my thoughts – whether that means talking to a friend, writing in my journal, or even just imagining myself talking to a friend or writing in my journal.
As E.M. Forster famously put it, How can I tell what I think till I see what I say?
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do. He may as well concern himself with his shadow on the wall. Speak what you think now in hard words, and to-morrow speak what to-morrow thinks in hard words again, though it contradict every thing you said to-day. — ‘Ah, so you shall be sure to be misunderstood.’ — Is it so bad, then, to be misunderstood? Pythagoras was misunderstood, and Socrates, and Jesus, and Luther, and Copernicus, and Galileo, and Newton, and every pure and wise spirit that ever took flesh. To be great is to be misunderstood. Emerson
ReplyDelete