Spring Cleaning Madness
The worst (or perhaps the best) thing about going on vacation is that I have to rush around frantically for days previous in order to clean my apartment and get it up to snuff for my cat's Aunt to arrive. The Cat cannot be left alone (as she pines for me, poor thing, and I worry about her) so at least three times a year, my place gets a good going over. Keeping up appearances and all that.
I don't like to clean. I especially don't like to clean when I can't see the fruits of my labour (ie disappeared dust). But when I do clean, I clean. Frantically, and with vigour. And that usually includes a good cleanout of clothes and papers that have building over months. And I have thrown out a LOT of stuff this time around. But it is stunningly obvious as I look around that I still have a LOT to go through and potentially throw out. How can this be?
Paper seems to procreate in my house. To hell with the paperless society. I'm surrounded by the damn stuff. And I get irritated by it. I seem to pick up the same piece of paper seven or eight times before I either decide on a home for it or to throw it away. I suppose I could scan everything - but I actually do have a life and would like to live it. Life's too short to scan paper into a computer.
And then there's the shredding, ah, the shredding! I have to separate the papers into those that might contain personal information and need to be shredded in order that my identity not be stolen and used for nefarious purposes, and those that can be tossed willy-nilly. And the paper that needs shredding continues to sit there, staring at me, waiting for me to shred it, like it's on Death Row.
So here I sit feeling virtuous on the one hand, and intimidated on the other. I'll need another vacation to deal with the paper I have simply hidden away, out of view.
Sigh. It's just never easy.
The worst (or perhaps the best) thing about going on vacation is that I have to rush around frantically for days previous in order to clean my apartment and get it up to snuff for my cat's Aunt to arrive. The Cat cannot be left alone (as she pines for me, poor thing, and I worry about her) so at least three times a year, my place gets a good going over. Keeping up appearances and all that.
I don't like to clean. I especially don't like to clean when I can't see the fruits of my labour (ie disappeared dust). But when I do clean, I clean. Frantically, and with vigour. And that usually includes a good cleanout of clothes and papers that have building over months. And I have thrown out a LOT of stuff this time around. But it is stunningly obvious as I look around that I still have a LOT to go through and potentially throw out. How can this be?
Paper seems to procreate in my house. To hell with the paperless society. I'm surrounded by the damn stuff. And I get irritated by it. I seem to pick up the same piece of paper seven or eight times before I either decide on a home for it or to throw it away. I suppose I could scan everything - but I actually do have a life and would like to live it. Life's too short to scan paper into a computer.
And then there's the shredding, ah, the shredding! I have to separate the papers into those that might contain personal information and need to be shredded in order that my identity not be stolen and used for nefarious purposes, and those that can be tossed willy-nilly. And the paper that needs shredding continues to sit there, staring at me, waiting for me to shred it, like it's on Death Row.
So here I sit feeling virtuous on the one hand, and intimidated on the other. I'll need another vacation to deal with the paper I have simply hidden away, out of view.
Sigh. It's just never easy.
Comments
I also have a friend who says "If I can't FEEL the paper, it's no good. Images are nothing. Paper is EVERYTHING!"
Fret not... You are not alone!