I am partial to not leaving the house unless I assemble a well-balanced ensemble. My taste changes sporadically, but the same few elements remain. When I do clean, I proceed like a madman. If my room is not proportionally correct; if what's arranged on my desk is not in some systematic order that fits the confines of my mentally-established regulations, I am not satisfied. I print like a typewriter. All letters must be uniform; if one takes on an italic slant, the rest follow. I must write either in the exact center of the line, or following the bottom (the latter is new, I haven't touched "ground" on a lined piece of paper in years). My bed must be made and symmetric. Lighting apparatus, pristine. Technology, silver or black. Matching. Rounded edges. Slim. Innovative. Pleasing to the eye. Everything, blank and unbranded; if it must be labeled, the font must be agreeable, never Papyrus, preferably sans serif. Dust? Abominable. Fingerprints? Unless placed intentionally, never. My ideal living space is that of the Apple Store. I want simple on the brink of complexity.
Maybe that's why I love the snow. Pure, untouched, nature's unstoppable dusting. The epitome of seamless, the epitome of beauty.
Where I fail, nature is unwaveringly flawless. Where I fail, God is perfect.
