I read a very interesting article this morning in Real Simple about Procrastination. Why did I capitalize that word in the middle of a sentence you ask ? Because it deserves it ! It is an important word. It is a word that defines periods of my life with such clarity and precision that a diamond tipped drill couldn’t do a better job. Over the past couple of months, the piles of “stuff” around my house have grown due to Procrastination. Well bits of it anyway. I’ll take a stab at a pile here and put some stuff away there but never have I achieved the nirvana of complete tidyness that I now pursue. Part of this is out of pure petulance. Why is it that no one in my family can pick things up ? Perhaps it is my poor example yet they see me tidying up constantly just not making much progress. I brought this little matter to my husband’s attention and I have to give him props in that he agreed. I even left some stuff on purpose to see if it would magically get shifted. It did not. This was not my stuff. This was not their stuff. It was family generated stuff. Do you think anyone rose to the challenge ? As evidenced by the dirty table cloth that sat at the bottom of the stairs waiting to grow legs and walk into the laundry room, I would say NOT.
So tonight, in a fit of pique and with the best of intentions to prove the article wrong – I begin my campaign of tidy. I will sort and recyle. I will put away and put up. I will fluff and fold. I will remove some tinder which feeds the growing campfire of Girl Guide stuff in my house and give some away ( a collective gasp! would be appropriate here). I want my tidy. I want my oasis back. I want control of the clutter before someone trips over something and breaks a bone or worse unpiles a pile. I have finished the kitchen and the family room is lookin’ mighty fine. Next stop – my chair.
My chair – my lovely, lovely, comfy chair. My writing chair. My reading chair. My rest my eyes chair. My chair which belonged to my mother and to some stranger before her. This chair has been cushioning tushies for a very long time. Now it is the centerpiece in my pile masterpiece. Piles of books. Piles of dictionaries. More piles of books. My pencil case. More Guide stuff. I am waiting for it to sprout tentacles and suck in some unsuspecting soul who tries to navigate towards its spongy middle. So good friends, with the best of intentions, I will dedicate the next 15 minutes to taming the octopus in the living room.
Cover me Danno – I’m going in.