the muse & the dirty girl

As I was a feral child raised by wolves, and thus am jealous of those raised in a barn--I suppose my education on housewifery skills is not up to snuff.

As a Virgo, I am entranced by the organization books in the bookstores, and container stores that sell glossy organization systems. But growing up I developed a high tolerance for clutter. It's not that I'm in love with clutter. It's not that I cling to it like a caddis fly larvae clings to its gravel nest.

I'm not one of those 'my clutter, myself' people. At least I didn't think I was.

I like cleanliness and loathe dirt like the best people. Don't I? But when push comes to shove, and I'm writing on my masterpiece (or glitter painting bird houses, or decoupaging coffee tables, or making resin-filled soda pop top jewelry) I can afford to let some minor household matters slide.

Slide? Avalanche for all I care! When I'm blissfully creative, in my zone, the dishes can pile up in the sink! The laundry can stay in the basket! The bed can stay unmade! Besides, the cats are too comfy to move them. 

And anyway, when this earthly life is over, will I on my death bed say, 'I regret should have washed more dishes?'

Or will I say, 'I should have let the dishes feck themselves, followed the MUSE, and CREATED?