The Zen of Organizing

With my day away from teaching yesterday I once again dug into the process of unpacking. I had not yet organized my CDs, and sitting for 3 hours sorting them by category and then alphabetizing them turned out to be a very helpful thing. For that 3 hours, I was focused on one task. A familiar thing that I've done half a dozen times before when I've moved.

(One task is always the best thing for me. Scott is the best multitasker I've ever seen. I am a tasker. Can't do 2 things at once any more complex than eating and watching TV. I'm a big slow dog who must eat out of one bowl and then drink out of the other. And do not distract me with a treat.)

By looking at the many artists and titles, I can travel down the infamous Memory Lane and see, musically, where I've been. As you know, Memory Lane can be frightening. Disturbing even. Like when I rediscovered, again, the Jermaine Jackson CD I own. Remember his one hit, "Do What You Do?" I don't have the heart to throw it out. He looks so very earnest and somber on the cover, wearing some kind of blue velvet marching band uniform with gold satin accents, and standing next to a carved marble armless bust of a man staring blankly at him, probably thinking, "Oy vey, he will never be his brother." Because this CD was released in 1984, back when Michael was still cool and admired. Before the bones of the elephant man and the face bleaching and the tawdry sexual politics of Neverland.

I examined my copy of Ozzy Osbourne's double album "Live & Loud." The case is made of steel mesh. How could you be more of a badass than that? The fact that Ozzy and Jermaine are shelved in the same room is enough style dissonance to cause a chemical reaction. Chernobyl 2.

There is an international section of music, which includes "Songs of Ancient Egypt" and something New Age-y called "Global Meditation." I won't even try to remember what prompted me to buy that. But I have a pretty good idea. Substance abuse. "Dude, like, this planet is so huge. Listen to these African drums." Or it was on sale.

The Jermaine Jackson was, thankfully, at least a "remainder." The little hole punched in the jewel case says to me "Yes. This was a mistake, Candy. But an inexpensive one." Would that all my mistakes were this minor. It would be a comfort if all the bad decisions I ever made could line up in plastic cases with holes punched in each one. Reassuring me that they were only momentary lapses in judgment and that now I can throw them away. Let them go. Never think about them again. Release the baggage, Candy! Embrace the now! Don't put that hideous Jermaine Jackson CD back on the shelf!

But I did. Memory Lane needs a few thorny bushes among the beautiful fruit trees. And anyhow, Kajagoogoo and Ace of Base would be lonely.