Monday, May 12, 2008

The Art of Disorganization

I really must get my act together. I need to organize...and figure out a way to practice what I so frequently preach. It really doesn’t seem fair that I’m constantly intoning the virtues of “getting work completed and out of the way” when I’m my own worst enemy.

As I write this, I can see (only out of the corner of my eye…I can have selective eyesight as good as any one of the boys) a two-inch pile of unmarked CD’s. One day, I will take the time to individually load each and every one into my CD drive to find out what was so vital that it had to be burned onto a CD, but was evidently not important enough for me to bother labeling it.

Placed haphazardly next to this CD-pile is a box containing the used-up cartridge from my fax machine…no doubt a visual reminder that I need a new one...it's been so long, I can't recall. Next to that is a brand new unopened box of “CD/DVD Envelopes”…my attempt at keeping those unmarked CDs from getting scratched, I’m guessing.

My desk is very, very small. It’s really more of a computer stand…probably meant to hold no more than a keyboard, a couple of small speakers and maybe a box of paperclips.

Instead, I have the things I’ve listed above. I also have:

  • a 6-tiered folder-holder stuffed with a minimum of 10 jumbled files…all works in progress, so nothing’s coming out of the pile any time soon
  • four worthless lottery tickets from April 22nd that were purchased betting on the number “4444”, because a lunch check that day came to $44.44 and we thought the universe was trying to tell us something. (I think the universe was telling us it has a great sense of humor and that we'll use any excuse to buy a lottery ticket.)
  • one toothpick
  • a soft measuring tape (used to measure the width of my foot…some site on the internet says I can use it to tell whether I have a wide foot or not. According to them, I have a width not found in nature, much less footwear. So that's why my shoes always hurt!)
  • assorted highlighters, pens, pencils, a stapler, tape dispenser and white out (part of any writer's arsenal)
  • a postage scale (‘cause you never know when you’ll go over an ounce.)
  • a little plastic chicken family (It was inside an Easter egg from the hunt at my brother’s and I laughed so hard I almost choked on my lamb. Cathy: you are a hoot-and-a-half.)

  • a piece of paper containing abstract words to four songs I want to download (e.g.: diamond teevee ad-I think I'm possibly falling? ...hard over...you?) PLUS an illustration of what poison ivy looks like, according to Taylor.
  • oh, and I almost forgot...my laptop.

    Then there’s the matter of my closet. Yikes…I can just hear Clinton Kelly now:




Clinton: (With face above) “I’m speechless. I have no words. There are no words to describe this closet.”
Kathryn: “Wow….that was a ton of words for a man with no words. C’mon…it’s not that bad. Surely you can think of something positive to say about it.”
C: “I can honestly say…nope, I can’t think of a thing.”
K: “Are you kidding? You’re telling me there are no redeeming qualities to this closet?”
C: “I’ve never seen anyone use a cardboard box to hold their shoes. Were you homeless at some point?”
K: “Ouch. Well, STOP looking at the floor….that might help…”
C: “Is that some kind of animal up there? I see some kind of hair.”
K: (Sniffs indignantly) “What? Don’t be ridiculous.” (Eyes the top shelf suspiciously, taking a step back just in case.) “Oh! That’s just a hairpiece I found at a wig shop in the city. Do you want to see it on me? It’s really quite fetching…”
C: “I’ll pass. Do I even want to know why there’s a box of brownie mix next to it?”
K: “It’s not brownie mix. That would be STUPID. It’s a brownie mix BOX filled with hair stuff.”
C: “Because that makes a lot more sense…”
K: “Uh huh. Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?”
C: (Chuckles) “I don’t have to mock you…this closet does it for me. Can we stop now? Something just moved in there.”
K: “You’d better be kidding. We’re outta here.”
C: “I’m suddenly craving a brownie…”

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