I know it sounds like an excuse (Teresa’s 427th excuse for not writing) but one the hindrances to my writing is being disorganized in a very specific area.
I have a paper problem.
I can’t seem to throw anything away. (I actually might NEED that two year old cell phone receipt for something.)
I don’t know where it comes from.
The rest of my life is set up pretty nicely. My house is clean, my office at my place of employment is spotless, but there’s this one corner of my bedroom, where I let this stack (not quite the correct word) just build up and build up (and build up), until it was a mountain if Everestque proportions.
And just knowing that I had this problem has affected me in a lot of ways.
A) I bargained with myself: clear that paper away and you can buy that new “X” that you want.
B) I denied myself stuff I really needed: You can’t buy a new desk/printer/chair… where would you put it?
C) I compared myself to others: I bet “X”, who writes such lovely books, has a wonderful creative space.
Saturday morning, when I woke up, I laid in bed and just stared at it. That was it, that was the moment I knew I could not take it anymore!
So, it has taken me the better part of two days to slay this particular dragon. Most of that crap was nothing but old bill statements, old medical receipts, and old pay-stubs, which could have been or should have been thrown away/shredded, burned? a long, long time ago.
And do you want to know what was one of the more surprisingly large quantities of collected paper I found?
Countless scrapes of paper and notebook pages and post-it notes, filled with scribblings for stories I have started, stories I have finished, stories I have contemplated starting, and/or stories that I have no hope of ever finishing. No wonder the writing side of my brain is so addled.
Now I am left with 1/32th of the paper mess that I had before. I am excited to finally be able to go to my files and actually find what I am looking for.