Whew! Today, at long last, the office is neat and clean for the first time in a long while. Each time I get it to this point, I swear up and down to myself and God that I will never, never, never allow this mess to accumulate again. But it does.
When life is busy and I’m writing, trying to keep appointments, some semblance of an orderly home and a life slightly less than a hermit’s, I tend to just toss papers into a heap on either the printer, my desk or the top of the files where I keep my book business. Eventually, this becomes comparable to wading through knee high sand. Then I sort, shred, pitch and file every paper that I need to deal with, usually with a 12 pound Siamese cat merrily running and jumping through it all.
My husband has a gunsmith business and I share the office with him with individual desks and computers across the room from each other. Before I became a writer, I used to mutter to myself about how unbelievable it was that he could get his desk so incredibly littered. Well, I surpassed him long ago because my mess takes up the entire room, which is fairly ample.
Today I almost ended up burning up freshly baked bread in the bread maker because when the signal went off that it was done, I continued focusing on what I was doing in the office until I noticed an unusually strong smell of bread. I saved it just in time, though it does sort of have a little bit of extra crunch around the edges of the crust. But that gave me an excuse to stop, slice a thin piece off the end and enjoy a warm, fresh piece of bread with butter.
Be a writer they said. It will be fun! To be honest, for the most part, it really is!