Life of Wry

This picture has nothing whatsoever to do with what I wrote (which is a very cranky rant, so I apologize).  But it rained like crazy today which brought out all the snails.  Saw these on a walk downtown and liked them. (Though I think, with the title,  I just found a way to tie the picture in…)

Experiencing a clash of sensibilities.  Need to vent.

A person I live with (I’ll not name names, but..) is really messy.  So messy, it nearly literally takes my breath away.  It’s boy messy, it’s a classic story, I won’t go into detail.

Well, except.. here’s a good example.  Last night, I went into his room (for something.. I’m sure I didn’t find it) and found a half-eaten snow cone (or the remnants thereof) that he’d rested on a pile of books when he’d rushed in from a baseball game and left quickly for a band concert.   Snow cone.. sticky.. wet… spready and seepy.   I just can’t tell you.

Anyway.  He’s seriously messy.  His room, his backpack, the back seat, his pockets, under the dining room table, his bathroom… all disasters.

Worse than his boyish messiness, though, is his destruction. I’m talking unimaginably destructive.  It’s stunning and heartbreaking what he’s done to the furniture in his room, for example, and the walls, carpet, and too many toys, books and clothes to fathom.  Holes in desk tops, shards of pencils used as projectiles everywhere, chipped paint, felt tip stains on rugs, and broken everything.  It’s just not right and I’m sort of at my wit’s end.  I look at the stuff we’ve bought him, or the stuff other people have given him, and I can’t stand it.  There is a lot of material waste, of course, but there is also a lot of loss.  People give you something, they do it with thought and care, there’s sentimental and nostalgic value to many of these things.  It just truly, deeply saddens me.

An hour ago, upon surveying today’s destruction (now a broken desk top), I suggested to Jim that we remove everything from his room, leaving only a shell.  I was serious.  A basic mattress, clothes in the closet, maybe retain the dresser (works well as an organizing tool, at least in concept).  But everything else.. out of there. This solution, histrionic as it may seem, came from a place of reason, I thought.  Not anger.  I am just plain defeated and trying like hell to come up with a workable solution for all concerned.  I actually thought it was kind of a win win.

It’s not like he’s an angry kid, not at all; this is not acting out.  He’s guileless and as happy go lucky as can be.  He is utterly unconcerned and far more oblivious than intentional.  Jim came up with an analogy that made it seem less pathological.  He compared Peter to a good natured dog whose owner returns home to find wanton destruction–couches scratched to smithereens, walls chewed through, toilet paper everywhere. Dog just wags its happy tail and wonders about dinner.

So, it’s kind of like that.

The clash comes because I am on the extreme other end of that spectrum.  Surprise.  I’m not messy in the least.  In fact, my need for uncluttered order is a wee bit pathological in its own right.  I don’t function all that well in chaos and disorder.  Wish I did.  I don’t.

On top of that, I place a very high value on aesthetics and my own personal sense of feng shui.  It’s really important to me (well, sort of necessary) that my living space be pleasing and artful, tranquil, and functional in its orderliness and design.  At least attractive to me.

If I can contain Peter’s messiness to his room and bathroom (which takes some effort), it sort of works.  And I do this.  But then I have to go into one of his spaces, or his mess slops into communal space, or, heartbreak, I see something in a thousand pieces.  (You can’t imagine what he did to his ligature.  He also is a person who should not play a reed instrument.)

Anyway, Jim’s kind of a go-with-the-flow guy; none of this bothers him.  But Peter and me?  On totally opposite ends.  I guess I’m the only one who’s really bummed.

Of course I could write volumes about all that works, and how wonderful this little boy is in so many other ways.  So, no lectures about how trivial this is… please.   It’s what it is, and the time is a blip.  For sure we’ll all survive, and there are a ton more important things in the world to worry about..  I know all that.  But I’m very bothered.  I have to find a way to teach him to respect property, at least.  Or find a way to get property out of his hands.  Or something.