A Blu-ray copy of the film had stared down from my bookshelf for years, accumulating dust, when one day a shard of sunlight landed on it, as if directed by a higher power. This prompted some uncomfortable questions. So why had I let it linger there untouched for such a long time?
The answer is simple: I’m a disorganised mess. Zooming out, things weren’t much better. I had a mountain of clothes that needed to be hung up or put away, cupboards stuffed with God knows what, plates and mugs that I had never used … The thought of sorting everything out was overwhelming.
My mind wandered to other areas of my life that could do with some scrubbing up: my finances, health and general productivity. There are 24 hours in a day but, more often than not, they flitter away and I’ve hardly achieved anything. I am not the only person who struggles with the constant demands of modern life.
Hence the boom in admin nights, where strangers gather in cafes and bars to blast through their backlog of unpaid bills, unanswered texts or unneeded subscriptions. My first step, though, was to pick up a notepad and pen and do something I hadn’t done in a long time. I made a list, and immediately felt a little better about myself.
As Vicky Reynal, a London-based psychotherapist, puts it: “We all have something in our minds about the kind of person we want to be, whether that’s ‘adulting’ while taking more responsibility, or looking after ourselves to the best of our ability, and sometimes a to-do list can help us move a step closer.” So began what I hoped would be a month-long journey of self-improvement. And what a mammoth task I’ve set myself. My clothing rail has two dozen smart-looking white wooden hangers to give my setup a sleek, curated look.
But this is undermined not only by the shabby old garments hanging off them, in a sight to make Miranda Priestly gag, but also by the heap of clothing that sits in a compartment above. The lower layers are neatly folded but the T-shirts, trousers and shorts near the top are scrunched and rolled up, slotted into random gaps to maintain the structural integrity of my fabric Jenga tower. The first step is to dismantle this heap, which, I’m ashamed to say, is almost three feet high.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
