I have worked now for almost two hours in my room and do I see much headway?
No. No I do not.
I have this:
OH YEAH AND…
(Note the knitting magazine, still unread, but on top of the pile – I have my priorities, people)
There is more OH YES THERE IS, but thankfully the batteries died in the camera and I was thus spared any further documentation of the chaos.
The worst part, of course, is that I’m doing this to myself.
See, it’s like this. My husband and I were sharing the office downstairs. It was a little tight in there, and also the office is probably the worst room in the house for Peace And Quiet Or Something Like It. If anyone is watching TV, the noise comes right through the wall. If anyone is playing upstairs, it sounds like a herd of elephants is tap dancing overhead. And then there is the tiny matter that whenever my husband gets on the phone with a coworker (about seventy times a day), he is loud and I am ‘not supposed to be there’.
Yeah. Gets old, being run out of the office all the time. Or trying to work with Slash ‘Em Dead XIII: In the mall, everybody hears you scream, even people trying to read annual statements in the other room blaring through the wall.
So the decision was made (by me) that I would move my base of operations upstairs. I would move everything upstairs: my ‘quiet’ knitting space, my computer, my filing system, my writing, everything, to our bedroom. The way I have envisioned it, whether I’m writing or knitting or cussing out vendors on the phone, I can simply glance out the bedroom door to check up on the Denizens at any time.
It will rock.
IN THE MEANTIME, I have an awful lot to get through. There is all kinds of stuff that has been ‘temporarily’ stored in, on, under, or around the dresser and armoire I pulled out of this room to make room for my new space. Due to the impending remodeling project (which, by the way, is already making me a crazy person and we haven’t even gotten final plans yet, let alone anything resembling a bid), I’m being forced to kick it into high gear.
I am also being forced by my nature to get it done.
I’m not a neatnik, I swear I’m not – I have a healthy slob-ability inside me. But at the same time, clutter does distress me. It disorders my brain, it makes it hard for me to think about anything else. It makes me tired and unhappy, and I will fly into irrational rages when, for example, I can’t find my keys.
I have actually run through this house throwing everything on the floor like a PMSing teenager because I couldn’t find my keys. “If we didn’t have all this @*^&@ all over the place,” I’m usually screeching. “I wouldn’t be having this problem!”
(Which is a lie, because I have the worst habit of setting my keys down in a different place every single time I come through the door. If this Den was spotless and organized all the time, I’d still manage to misplace them. Seriously. I am a lost cause when it comes to lost keys.)
I know that eventually I’m going to get through this. One basket, one box, one insane pile at a time.
But it’s a long, long way from Organized to Here…
C. E. Montague
14 hours ago