The distractions of the world

I love it when people write their own vows, especially people like my brother-in-law and my new sister-in-law who write beautiful vows with lofty aspirations that they will totally pin down like kites yanked from gale winds, because they're just so committed and wise in their young years that there's nothing that they cannot achieve together. My sister-in-law said one vow, with an unshaky, yet somewhat hushed voice that pricked my heart. She vowed to make their home a "safe haven from the distractions of the world." I was so convicted. Home should, afterall, be a safe haven from all of the world's ills. Diseases, menthol cigarettes, subwoofer stereos. Bad bad halitosis, noisy cement stirrers, athlete's foot. All those things. Not welcome in the home. And not so hard for me to keep out of our home. However, the word that rung loudly in my ear at the wedding was "distractions." How to keep distractions from entering the home and reigning supreme. Home, afterall, is a place in contrast to work where my adult ADD runs for 8 hours straight like a wild naked banshee from Mozilla Foxfire tab to Mozilla Foxfire tab. Home should be a place of rest, a place where the mind can rest, a place where the feet (sans athlete's foot) can rest, a place where the heart can be perfectly at peace. But, in reality, my home often looks like Borders meets FAO Schwartz meets Macy's Dressing Room. Newspapers scattered, clothes strewn, guitar totally in the way of my walking path. Distraction isn't even the word for it. My home is not a place of rest. It is a Jackson Pollock painting. I am agitated by its mess because I am thinking about how I need a clean workspace, but if home is in contrast to my workplace, then why should I need to work on a workspace in my home?!? I am not a messy person. My husband is mildly messy. He does not appreciate nice neat piles which form perfect 90 degree angles. He is not entirely to blame, though. It is my fatal attitude towards this mess, this mess which will never be remedied fully, that is keeping our home from becoming a haven of bliss. I know that I should probably subscribe to Flylady to solve all of my problems, but I understand that she sends many e-mails and if there is one thing that I can maintain as tidy, it's my gmail inbox. Flylady, begone. I know that this gripe is a perennial one, especially with women, especially ones who work full-time either as office denizens or as mothers, but this gripe is something that I never thought I would have with my own home. I want an intervention. I want The Container Store to come and bust down my door and organize all of my twisty-ties and cracked CD cases for albums that I am too ashamed to even sell at a garage sale because then people will know that I once listened to Toni Tone Tone, and pitch them or box them into nicely labeled transparent containers that will all be on shelving that is eye-level for me. I want this to be the Berenstein Freakin' Bears Learn How to Keep a Home Free of Distraction. I want change. I want clarity. I want home to be different from work. Only, I am of a mind that it takes a lot of work to make home a place that is distinct from one's workplace. And that is the thought that keeps me from ever being truly at home in my home.