Here’s a quip to which I can truly relate: &uot;A messy desk is a sign of a creative mind&uot;. Another one that suits me to a &uot;T&uot;: &uot;Now that I finally got it together – I forgot where I put it.&uot; And here’s one more: &uot;Immaculate housekeepers are really dull.&uot;

On the plus side, I am bright, imaginative, have a great sense of humor, am kind to small animals and have the ability to see the Big Picture. On the other hand, however…I am scatter-brained, disorganized, a born pack rat and

– oh yeah, what else was it I was going to say?

You get the picture.

If you run into me on the street and I haven’t seen you for a while, I will very likely remember your face – I’m good at visuals – but don’t be hurt if I can’t recall your name.

There is no intention on my part to slight anyone; I’m just having one of my famous blank moments. I may not look like a deer caught in headlights on such occasions but I certainly feel like one.

I suspect my brain, my home and my life in general are just too stuffed with, well, stuff. The mountains of trivia I have accumulated over a lifetime of obsessively reading and watching shows like &uot;Jeopardy&uot;; things I learned years ago – my first Spanish dialogue (&uot;Ola, Isabel!&uot;), the biological classification system (say it with me: kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species), which way to turn the jar lid (&uot;left loosey, righty tighty&uot;) or how to spell &uot;antidisestablishmentarianism&uot; (break it down into those syllables, folks).

Some of this stuff is very useful; some of it I will probably never use again (unless I do happen to make it on to Jeopardy).

That’s just what’s in my noggin. Never mind the extra weight I routinely tote around with every step I take. It wears me out, slows me down and makes me feel bad.

I was in the office one day last week while the air conditioning was out of order and I nearly melted into a puddle on the floor.

As for the other stuff I’ve accumulated – let me put it this way: I wouldn’t be completely surprised if long-lost Teamster Jimmy Hoffa suddenly reappeared in our home.

He could be stuffed into one of our walk-in closets, pinned under a load of books, suffocating beneath a pile of clothing (let’s see, there are the ones I can wear, the ones I might one day be able to wear again and, alas, the ones where there is a better a chance of a snowball fight in my front yard in July than of my ever fitting into them again).

Is there anyone out there who can relate to what I’m saying, brothers and sisters? Could I get an &uot;amen&uot;?

If I ever get it all together (and don’t forget where I put it) I’ll give you a ring. That is, if I don’t forget where I put the darned phone – or the phone book.

Aww, you know what I mean.

Angie Long is a Lifestyles writer and columnist for The Greenville Advocate. She may be contacted at home by phone at 382-5145.