My organizational project is about done – as with any project of this magnitude, there are other things to be done, but for now, done is done, or almost done. I will do those things, such as print up my poems that are on the computer and get them into the filing cabinet with the other work.

Now that this is behind me, I can’t help but wonder if I did this to counter my inability to comprehend the disorder that is occurring worldwide. Hence, the title, New World Disorder. Perhaps, I may have thought that self-organization would enable me to better deal with all the chaos caused by the virus and now the death of an African American by a policeman.

It may have when I was working away, sorting, filing, categorizing. Then I was like an Ostridge with its head in the sand. I have now pulled my head up out of the sand. I don’t feel any less unsettled having taken care of my own affairs. Let this be a lesson to you – self disorganization is not as bad as some people think.

Pete calls what I have done “practicing good file management.” Okay. He practices what he preaches when doing computer work. Not so much so with his actual tools, his painting tools being the exception.

I think that one’s late teens and early twenties are really underrated formative years. This is the time when elders teach you the how, what, when, where, why of the world of work. I learned, and it stuck, how to groom a horse and take care of my tack. I am pretty fastidious about this because this is the way I was taught. Pete learned, and it stuck, how to clean a paintbrush and take care of related materials. Yes, we had excellent early teachers.

Pete figured out on his own how to deal with computer files. Me, up until now, I could not be bothered. Now I am going to make a concerted effort to put my computer documents where they belong. This is because later it will be easier to find them.

It very well may be that we are now experiencing societal collapse in this country, in which case we’ll all be affected in what will seem to be very unlikely ways. Gosh, if anyone had told me a year ago that a deadly world-wide pandemic was going to occur, and we’d all have to keep our distance and wear masks, I would have been filled with a sense of foreboding. So maybe it’s a good thing that none of us really can see what the future holds.

But in the meantime, I am going to keep writing. I’m also going to keep riding. No matter that the literary market is drying up. And no matter that most horsey events have been cancelled. I can’t sit around and fret and think about the what ifs. Rather, I am going to keep moving and think about the right nows. Such optimism. That’s important too.

Next: 155. 6/4/20: Perhaps