Sudoku Simplicity

Sudoku Simplicity

Neatness can be a virtue.

Every little thing in its place.

Tidy. Clean.

A child of goddess ADHD, who both blesses and curses, I am accustomed to sloppiness in my living space
and perhaps in my
very
brain.

Perhaps

That is why I overcompensate
In my love of the neat, tidy little book game called Sudoku.

Logical.

Like a math problem.

Everything squared away to the point of OCD.

QED.

It's a little like mopping the floor with Pine Sol. The end accomplishment is pretty.

And the process is fun, hard, productive work.

Sometimes it is this way with love. A platonic friendship neatly grows

With squared corners and immaculate respect for space like a little Bonsai tree,

Oblivious to the sloppy passions,

Flowering in intellectual friendship

And even a kindly romantic affection.

And yet how rare.

How much more often does love grow wild and uncontrollably like a ragweed,

Showering the earth with pheromones and hormones,

No logic, no pattern,

Until violently it ends in being plucked out of the earth

For its unseemlines

By him who tends the garden for us.

Oh that love were more often like that Sudoku and that little Bonsai,

Passions intelligently restrained,

Everything working to mutual benefit.

Until the world is that way,

We bravely put on our gas masks to protect us from the pollen sprays

And attempt to wander through the unkempt fields of romantic love.