Like my closet just after I've gotten ready to go out for the evening. The lines between my closet and my bedroom are generally blurred by then. I'm always astonished at the sheer number of clothes I have, and even more amazed at the way none of them make me look good (yeah, yeah I know, there's gotta be something there to begin with, in order for clothes to help in anyway).
Like my living room after I've had friends over. Wine glasses behind the sofa, crumpled rug, throw pillows everywhere, books off the book shelf lying around on the floor, crumbs behind the TV, and under the sofa, and under the floor light, all the places which you can't imagine people designating as the one spot where they'd adore to have dinner.
Like my kitchen after a cooking binge. Pots and pans in the sink. Stacked, greasy, begging to be washed. Cutting boards and knives everywhere. A million spoons for a million reasons. Used and discarded. An assortment of bowls and mugs pressed into service as measuring cups (if you can call it measuring to randomly fill utensils up to different levels based purely on whim).
Like my car. Period.
My mind today. I believe I'm blue. Is this the SAD everyone's talking about? If only I could pick thoughts up, fold them and put them away, systematically into different draws and on various shelves. Sort through the pile on the floor with the laundry basket handy, a convenient depository for those that are to be (at some later date) washed out thoroughly and then re-examined for stubborn stains. Hang up the ones that I know I'll wear again, really soon, cos they're lucky (some clothes are lucky) for me. Strategically place lavendar sachets between the folds. Step back, knowing that everything's in its place. If I was God, I'd make minds like closets.
Update: I should move to Denmark. People there are very happy with their lives apparently. Way above the global average. Of course the root of their happiness is their perrenial pessimism. See, how well some people sort their lives out?