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My apartment is both organized, and not-so-organized. 

I have books neatly arranged by topic and author; I have clothes filed away by type in a dresser in my bedroom; I have a medicine cabinet in the bathroom stocked with deodorants and sunscreen and bandaids each with a shelf of their own.

But underneath the veneer of neatness, is quite frankly, a mess. I have a nightstand next to my bed stuffed with random cords and connectors for devices long-gone; I have a filing cabinet with disorganized documents and birthday cards; and then I have The Closet. The Closet is just stuffed willy-nilly with everything else. I shiver when I pass by it. It’s a wreck.