Friday, January 11, 2013


I try to keep the clutter in my house to a minimum.  Two things defeat me: books and paperwork.  I guess technically, that's only one thing.  Paper.  We'll say paper in two forms then.  The problem is, and always has been really, a lack of proper office space in my home.  As a military family moving homes every few years you aren't always guaranteed dedicated office space  That's a fairly ridiculous statement, because plenty of people get by without home offices, but I'd assume that their paper is a disorganized mess as well.  I have a file cabinet.  It's in the closet of the upstairs guest room/craft room/storage room.  I know.  Why didn't I just make that an office?  Well, I had, until I found myself pregnant a few months after moving into this house.  #Firstworldproblems 

The filing cabinet doesn't work, in the sense that you can't hang files in it.  You can pile them in the file drawer, which is an inaccurate description because at this point, it's just a drawer, but that makes them hard to get to, which makes the likelihood of me or the Major digging through there to actually file things pretty slim.  Thank you movers for losing the file hanging apparatus.  You'd be amazed at the things the movers can lose.  In addition to the file hanging thingy and the rolly ring the the glass plate sits on in the microwave, they also managed to lose one of my couch cushions.  I think one of them took it home to use as a dog bed.  Or maybe the really short semi driver who hauled our stuff need to prop it behind his back to reach the pedals and "forgot" to return it to the couch.  I don't know, but I think it takes a certain kind of chutzpah to drop off a couch without a cushion and then question me about whether I had the packers ship it or not.

So, in the absence of a properly functioning filing cabinet, I end up with piles of papers of various levels of importance sorted around the house.  Okay, the sorted part was obviously a joke, because why bother to sort if you know there's no way it's actually getting filed.  The deferred maintenance of household organization is a dangerous path.  I inevitably get fed up with looking at piles of paper everywhere.  The truth is I hate the piles of paper.  I hate the clutter.  And I hate the proof they offer about the kind of woman I'm not.  So, a couple of times a year I go on a mad cleaning spree, and I mean mad in the angry sense.  I get frustrated with the Major for not doing his part to prevent the clutter.  I get angry with myself for falling for the lure of later.  I just get mad and start clearing out the clutter with a vengeance.

When the dust settles, I'm generally pretty pleased with myself.  I've conquered the the clutter.  I've proven I can be the woman with an organized life.  (We're not talking about the non-file cabinet right now, so don't even think about bringing it up.)  But then a few weeks go by,and I start looking for stuff.  Like the sim card converter.  Or the Kindle charging cord.  Or the W-4s.  They're nowhere to be found.  They've gone the way of my high school class ring.  My camera memory card.  My social security card.  Into the perfectly functioning circular filing bin, which is maintained by the Major, so it doesn't have a clutter problem.  This happens with startling regularity.  What are the chances that I have another personality that likes to mess with me by tossing stuff I'm going to need later?  Let's go with that.  

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