I got to work this morning and had just started sipping my coffee when I saw a message pop up from Mr. Brain:
I’d like to say that this was a rare incident, something so out of character as to have created a head-scratching whodunit, but I think the truth is a little messier, or rather, I am a little messier. I’d also like to think that this is indicative of some endearing quality though, and not just a lack of attention to my physical space. Scrappiness comes to mind; I’m the junkyard cat using the rusted out car frame for strength and agility training. In my college days, a male housemate once dubbed me the ultimate gal pal because I was “as messy as a guy.” While this gendered assessment of tidiness feels increasingly outdated in 2018, I have chosen to hold on to this as a compliment, a statement about me as an unpretentious presence. No judgement here; you do you, I’ll do me.
We recently started watching Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Rachel Bloom’s hilarious TV account of letting fictional Rebecca Bunch go off the deep end, though ultimately forcing her towards self-realization in the process. What I love about most Rebecca’s character, however, is that she’s allowed to be a little messy. She does stupid things, she spills things (of both a physical and emotional nature). She doesn’t take herself so seriously that she can’t sing and dance bra-less about the difficulties of being a large-chested woman. In a recent episode, Rebecca is trying to ward off a faux love interest who’s become a bit of a stalker. As she says to her onscreen best friend, “He’s into all this now and then he’ll see me eat a piece of ham off the ground and he’ll move on.” Few statements have rung truer for me.
Like Rebecca, my fantasy world would be one in which I’m allowed to sing and dance about my fumbles, though for me I think there’d be more 80’s inspired interpretative dancing than singing. Think Jazzercise in the kitchen…though if you’re Mr. Brain you don’t have to dig too deep to actually envision this. Peanut Butter on My Work Shirt, Didn’t Feel Like Washing My Hair Again Today (Yay!). The possibilities are endless. So here’s to owning your own disorganization, whatever that may be. Perhaps we’ll bump heads rooting around for that ham.
*Feature image credit: Reese Derrenberger