I have very strong desires to organize things, but very weak organizational skills. Much the same as I wish very strongly to be a physically active human, but lack the will, drive, motivation, etc. required to manifest this physical activity in my day-to-day life.

My most recent organizational foible came as a magnetic album. I bought it at JoAnn’s fabrics probably a month ago with the idea in mind that I would use it to organize all the ticket stubs laying around our house. Ticket stubs in our house live like nomads. The ones that survive their purpose of getting us into a show move from shoe box to glass bowl, and from room to room. I just feel like these memories deserve more respect. I wanted to give them some solid Earth beneath their feet, so scrapbook-type thing it is.

PJ had been harboring his most valued ticket stubs in a box in a closet I didn’t even know about. Not because he didn’t want them to live among the rest of our tickets stubs, just because he has had them since before we met, and despite how long we’ve been dating, apparently real live human events happened before we knew each other. Sidenote, he literally stores some of his most prized possessions in a chiquita banana box.

So anyway, he wanted in on the action and the second he brings out his antique ticket stubs, this goes from a project it’s okay to fail at to me being responsible for the only tangible part of someone’s cherished childhood memory.

I don’t think that it should be any surprise at this point that I messed this up. Along with his 15th century ticket stubs, he also gave me some newspaper clippings. Newspaper clippings that I assume he laboriously cut out himself at the ripe old age of 12. His mom might have done it for him, I’m not sure. He’s at school right now and I can’t ask him.

I messed it up by not bothering to actually read the newspaper clippings because I’m a lazy bastard. I figured it was three separate clippings and read just enough to determine both of these pieces were about Nine Inch Nails.

This wouldn’t have been that big a deal, but apparently magnetic photo albums are only magnetic when it comes to actual photos, hence the name. When it comes to newspaper clippings and paper ticket stubs, magnetic apparently means glue of a thousand glue towns.

I tried to gently peel them up, but it was pretty immediately clear this was a permanent error. It’s a real special fear to realize you’re about to rip in half something someone else is emotionally attached to. I don’t recommend it. And so consequently, I just don’t recommend trying to be organized. Stick with your safe, familiar chaos.

I must admit it’s nice to have a lot of our memories in one place, though.