Out of Sorts

It started when I put a few items in my closet together according to color.  My clothes had become far too jumbled and unorganized, and in a few choice moves looked much better.  As I was musing whether to put something purple on a purple hanger instead of the yellow blouse it held, I decided to continue sorting, but things made of paper rather than cloth.

(Not my closet, by the way) http://www.homecaprice.com

So, rejuvenated by the 20-minute closet transformation, I swept downstairs to attack THE STACKS.

I don’t pay much attention to keeping notes together when I write.  Then mail comes in, and since most of it is flat, gets piled in with the notes.  And various letters, birthday cards from six months ago, and a few three dimensional items that belong in the junk drawer.  There are also the paint samples I brought home from Lowe’s.

Feeling obligated, I put them up behind light switches to determine whether the living room could best be brightened by Silky White, Aged Beige, or Burnished Clay.  I think I’ll go with the second one because I’m partial to rhyming words…

http://www.smead.com

Plastic tubs lately cleared of old holiday tags and embellishments were waiting to receive pages in their categories.  I started filing like a poker dealer.  Notes, bills, family records.  Notes, bills, family records.  Notes…

Then the phone rang.  Or I guess I was the one who speed dialed.  Everyone needs to inform a sister about an exciting moment of high industry.

Later, I continued the distribution.  Ten minutes in I was hungry for lunch.  Never mind that it was 9:30 — nutritious fresh fruit (plus a few Christmas chocolates) would provide new energy for cleaning.

It ended up being a two-day deal.  Did I say two?  I mean three…well, the tubs are half filled, and my stacks of paper are half the size they used to be.  I found some interesting stuff which I’d put aside last summer to use in writing projects.

http://www.everythingsimple.com (It is?)

I also discovered coupons, leftover fuzzy photos from my daughter’s high school graduation scrapbook which I triumphantly finished before Christmas (she’s 38), and a multitude of bills that had already been paid.  I filled a trash bag and took it to the garage.

I figured the experience would make an inspiring blog topic because every writer needs to be well-organized.  Just wait until I get a real office instead of a dining room table.