November 10th, messes of efficiency, comfort, service and nostalgia clutter our homes of body and soul. In the kitchens and offices of “to do,” foam runs along the tabletops and espresso stains linger, packet upon packet upon crumb dictating the hodgepodge of our inner/outer environs. The neurotic switch to alignment and conformity swerves us to the other extreme as the filing cabinets catalogue what needs most doing, the dichotomy of organization and mess, helpfulness and nuisance, cannibalizing itself.
In reality we’re all in quaint cottages with popup storybook lights, sat on by a smiling turtle-lord. The house lights flicker on and off, a reminder of our clinging to cozy memory and warm gatherings. The switches and household appliances say they need down-time, though—we’re using a lot of energy and need some time today in the dark, in hibernation. What we’re longing to apply can’t be done by force, but by sometimes turning the lights out and allowing the regeneration of the inner oven.