My room is a mess.  Either my drawers are leaking or my possessions are reproducing when I’m not around.  Actually, it’s not all that bad: I don’t need a shovel to get to the door.  I still have enough clean clothes to last me a little while.  I don’t yet see anything moving on its own.

But what exactly is a Mess?  Is it a stereotype?  Does someone have a preconceived idea of what Clean is?  Can anything be perfect?  If not, who decides which degree of perfection is acceptable and which is not?

My bed is not made.  But soon I will get inside it anyhow.  What is the purpose of a bed?  Is it primarily a place to neatly spread out sheets, or a place for nocturnal slumber?

The laws of nature tell us that everything tends to move toward disorder.  Why fight a law of nature?  Is it right to tell ourselves we can keep these things from happening?

Yes, for we are free!  Free to fight the madness!  Free to fight this tendency toward chaos!  Free to straighten sheets when we’re not in them!  Free to set the standards and press on toward perfection!  Free!  Free at last!  Free at last!