Throughout my life, I have been incredibly disorganized. I didn’t keep anything clean. I rarely threw things away. And I always thought I would be able to find it when I needed it.
Teachers would tell me how I needed to get organized, but I also heard how it was a sign of my creativity. There was always someone who would validate my perpetual mess. Sure, my parents would make me clean my room. But they’re pack rats too. My family hasn’t parked the cars in the garage since I was about 5 years old. Every year, I bought brand new notebooks and dividers and meticulously labeled them. A different color for every class. But by week 3, things were falling apart. And forget about keeping a planner. I forgot homework assignments, lost them when I did them, neglected to study for tests, everything.In college I kept a messy room, but my notebooks did get better. I was able to keep track of tests. I would liken it to being a functioning alcoholic. I was horribly disorganized, but I kept it under just enough control to get by. As I started my teaching career, my disorganization started to affect my work, but not so badly that I couldn’t get by. I would occasionally lose a student’s test (and even a whole class set of tests). I was always forgetting to turn some sort of paper work in to the administration by the due date. But they weren’t capital crimes, and I slid by.
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