Once upon a time, I worked as a writing tutor. For our first semester, writing tutor newbies took a tutoring theory class. As part of that class, we wrote entries for a blog. I thought of this entry today, because it was all about boxes.
Today, I've been pondering boxes. Sort of. (I think about the oddest things when I'm bored at work . . .)
Actually, I have been thinking about compartmentalization and life, as well as compartmentalization in life. And how in some ways, I like to classify people and things from my life into boxes.
When we were younger, my older sister would not eat if her food touched--that is, her spaghetti and her corn and her salad and all of the individual food items were not to fraternize or she would throw a fit and refuse to eat the food. She's no longer like this, but if my mom would have used compartment-plates, it might not have been an issue. But that's what I mean when I'm talking about compartmentalizing.
Today, I was trying to figure out how my attitude about life and the amount of compartmentalizing I am doing may or may not relate. Am I more or less satisfied with my state of being when my spaghetti, corn, salad, and dessert are commingling?
So I have been analyzing my life, as I sift through paperwork and as I make sure all of the employees at my company are in their proper boxes. Right now, I am not entirely satisfied with life. And I have discovered it's neither because I'm boxing too many things nor is it because I'm allowing too many things to huddle together.
It's because I don't even have the ability to put some things into boxes, because the boxes are immaterial. They're translucent. They're not available for classification use or for me to ignore right now.
In short, I haven't received dinner yet and therefore cannot know if it's properly separated or combined in a way I love.
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