I've been delving into the world of Type recently...and it's been fascinating. Careful readers of this blog (namely ME) will see that I've been interested in human development for ever.  I'm always trying to GET why I don't ever feel satisfied, why I don't feel like I fit the norms.  Why I am constantly searching.  It is irritating, I must admit.  Reading about type, like reading about the nodal drama which I discovered late last year seems to me to fill in some of the holes in my gaping hole of knowledge.  I do feel a certain amount of relief borne of basic recognition.

This morning, in a fit of trying everything (as is my wont as an INFP/INTP) I am sitting at Christie's desk, which has a wonderful view of the living room.  Of course, it would never work for me to do this when she was home.  She'd feel like her space was being invaded and sullied (because that's what I do, I conquer all space in this house, colonizing it through possessions).  But it is nice to sneak in and try it out...because this seat is one of the best in the house...the room is big and expansive, it has lots of light and windows and it is a proper desk...not the slapped together collection of tv dinner tables and tiny night stands that comprise my non work area.  That whole room feels scary to me....it's over colonzied with papers and books and aspirational shoe choices.

I understand Christie when she says the entire lot of it needs to be junked.  Besides helping Gina get her business elements together, I considered seriously attacking the closet because that is the genesis of all big bad things in that room.  The closet the loci of the most angst ridden yearny parts of the whole house.  It's filled with papers from old classes, clothes that no longer fit or are out of style, dentritis from almost every single move I've made as an adult.  I know that if I can crack the code of the closet, the rest of the room will be much easier to address.

And here's the thing...sitting here in the main body of the house, maybe I'd rather be part of the stream of things than separate from it?  Separateness is what makes being in that room so problematic...it makes C feel cut off from me, it creates a barrier in our togetherness.   So if I were here and not there...if that room could be switched back to a guest room with bookcase and sensible storage for my clothes, perhaps, perhaps our lives would not be so topsy turvey anymore?  I mean, I can put earphones on if the TV is going.  But I can't heal the rift created when I falsely sequester myself from the rest of my life.