Today I bought two Ikea boxes. Possibly the best £8 I have ever spent - I still have a load of bits of paper to sort out, but now they're all hidden from sight in a sleek, black and chrome rivet-effect container.
More than simply reclaiming my sofa from the piles of notes, they seem to point to a higher truth; they fit their purpose in a way that is hard to articulate, like some platonic Form. Taking complexity, and making it manageable; but more than that, elegant.
At some point, I lost the ability to explain to my friends and family what it is I spend my spare time doing. I feel isolated; I cannot express what motivates me, or even what it is I do. In fact, sometimes I can't even describe it to myself. Perhaps I never could.
I don't believe that you can buy happiness; but if I surround myself with metaphors, maybe I can buy clarity.