i am not a failure

i won't consider myself a failure - but - i am a shoddy success.

i set goals that i rarely complete. i make lists that never get entirely crossed out. instead, the to-do turns into the to-do-later becomes the will-do-tomorrow.
my desk is cleaned, each paper stacked or filed, pens put in drawers, post-its stuck in a pile. then it fills, necklaces draped over thank-you cards, scissors dropped onto newspaper clippings, pens and papers strewn unceremoniously over its once-blank surface.
my closet is organized - hanging clothes are arranged in rainbow order; shoe boxes are stacked underneath; t-shirts on the shelves are each folded the same direction and stacked by color. then mess ensues, jeans tumbling onto discarded tops, sweaters spilling out of drawers, belts thrown from their rightful hooks to rest like stiff reminders on the floor.

i expect better of myself, but that is not the truth of the matter. truth is balance, and the balance here is perfection and imperfection, clean and not clean, blank and cluttered. the balance here is my own way of vacillating between extremes, and that is where i belong. so i am not a failure. i am not a success. i am just so, just right, just in between.