I am tidy and organized. I’ve always been that way. Even as a young girl. I liked my room just so, my bed made, my beloved Bobbsey Twins books in order from one through thirty-six on the shelves above my bed and all the volumes of encyclopedias arranged from A to Z above my desk. I read voraciously to escape a chaotic home dominated by my alcoholic father.

These days, my apartment is full of paintings and objects d’art and antique furniture inherited from my parents and grandparents. Almost every nook and cranny is crammed, and what isn’t filled with chairs with mother-of-pearl inlays and other antiques is filled with bookshelves bursting with books. There are even piles of books on the floor. I like to read physical books and not on devices, although it makes for heavier tote bags. The table in my living room is stacked with books and folders that I need for the memoir I’m currently working on. Call it an orderly chaos.

One study found........

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