As with each new year, each new semester compels its own resolutions. Whether they be better grades or less stress, most resolutions encourage us to bring increased order to our lives. We've all been there. Making lists and planning. Making lists about making lists about planning.

Armed with a precise shopping list, we contemplate the advantages of an expanding file over last year's three-ring binder/end tab folder combination which proved lethal during group projects. Throw in a new 2007 planner to accommodate the aforementioned unforgivably detailed lists plotted down to the bathroom breaks (allowing for round-trip transit time, of course) and top it off with a few more of those storage bins that promise that this year, this semester, things will be different.

Indeed, an impressive panoply of organizational porn dominated the first Target advertising insert of 2007. And all the good, Rubbermaid-fearing believers made their pilgrimages to the office supply stores to atone for the mess they've accumulated over the past year. Organization is next to godliness.

Then there's me and my fellow messy cult members. You'll know us by our Hefty bag luggage spilling out around the stacks of papers and books which cover countless other layers of disorganization debris. Any attempt at organization only displaces the clutter to a satellite pile. We carry only one notebook because any more and the responsibility of organizing them would be overwhelming.

We like things simple and we like them messy. Some people get excited when they find a dollar in an old coat pocket. I get excited when I find my cell phone. Whereas others apologize for their domestic disarray ("Sorry it's so messy"), I often find the kempt sterile and uninviting – like I'm wrong for even breathing in it.

My first job was as a cleaning lady, the second as an administrative assistant. I took more than a paycheck out of those experiences. I took a disdain for the time and energy spent on numerous vain attempts to bring order to perpetual and sometimes necessary chaos. Appliances conveniently crowd countertops because of frequent use. Immediately filing forms wastes time better spent on urgent tasks.

Some of you are probably saying, "But I'm just naturally neat and orderly and perfect." That's so awesome. I'm not, and I equally embrace that fact as its alternative is impossible for me; a complete waste of time and energy.

Suppose I did get all my clothes folded and tucked away in some arbitrary "proper" place. Suppose I created a routine for myself. I would be, in effect, fighting myself. I know how to deal with my piles and notes scribbled on my hands. I don't know how to deal with everything put away – wherever the heck that is.

At some point, things must be cleaned … say my roommates. Fair enough. But I won't apologize for manifesting my scatterbrain in my routine and lifestyle. I'm creative, spontaneous and flexible – all observable by sedimentary dating of my room. What does a clean room/office say?

The proverbial white carpet is downright contrary to nature. After all, life is a mess. And you know what they say; "If you can't beat it …"