disorganized

i am not a very organized person. there are many obvious penalties attached to my disarray. discomfort and irritation, of course, but also an over-looked, potentially hard to accept pleasure: an increased rate of romantic coincidence. of stumbling across something you weren't at all looking for but certainly need. that jolt of happiness, the rush of recognition when, out of the blue, you find your brother's birth certificate or your parents' marriage license or the haiku you wrote in 3rd grade that won a district-wide poetry prize. items you have no reasonable need for now as an adult. or do you? these little beauties. these treasures. these histories. the hook that drags you back to moments of the past and set your heart beating in a flurry of remembrance. that surge of emotion that comes from being confronted with true memento mori- the artifacts of ones childhood, of ones parent's childhood, back and back, a lineage of belonging. or of rupture. the red thread of how ones life, as it stands in this very moment of Finding, had been built.