Saving the pencils, saving my sanity

For me, sanity begins with an empty coffee can. I find I can tolerate the socks, toys, shoes, newspapers, books, business cards—the various and sundry items that populate our floors; a cacophony of clutter; an inanimate, anarchical, miniature city of stuff. So much randomness, I tell myself, signifies the dynamism of the happy humanity of our household. But the writing utensils—the pens, pencils, markers and crayons—they must be contained. If they spill, there go my bearings. I must rescue them from the tyranny of the masses.

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