i have attempted to organize the small bookshelf 
and it has gone poorly. 
somehow in trying to tidy up
i have made a bigger problem.
one that only boxes can solve.
i thought since it is January i could remove the clutter from life
and replace it with music and poetry.
and all I ended up with is a tall pile of books that no longer feel relevant,
things I have been given or thought i would read;
your keto ice cream book the uses the ingredient they later found out was bad for you heart,
the time i wanted to learn Japanese because the world shutdown and I was dreaming something big, so I bought a book to practice but,
 now that the world is reopened I nolonger dream so big.
michelle obama's becoming that my father gave me.
(i should keep that one) 
things i meant to read but never found the time for.
5 composition books, each with several pages filled with delicate handwriting I no longer recognize, 
and several ipods without charging cables that are also no longer relevant but i am curious about.
what was i listening to before we came to all this? this chaotic life crammed into a small bookcase. 
and now as i tried to organize my sprawling life 
i have given up bc all these things could spark Joy
so instead i have a bunch of homeless things on the living room floor.
fuck you Mari Kondo.
i love my mess.