Progress is a wonderful thing. That is, until progress gets in the way of
sleep.
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| (Worse than my room - for now) |
I have been tearing the spare room apart and moving
furniture around between three bedrooms upstairs. The rooms are small and each has at least
one sloped wall, so this is all taking some major finagling. It also involves sifting and sorting through
fourteen years' worth of random work papers that need to be filed either in the
real file cabinet or into the circular file.
Oh, and the multiple shelves of books that need to be pruned are also on
the to-do list.
The other day before going in to Boston, I thought it would be a
bright idea to empty every pair of shoes I own onto my bed. Sure, they're all still in boxes, and,
thankfully, foot surgery a few years ago prevented me from amassing a huge
repertoire (I only have about thirty pairs).
I carefully sorted them out into piles by color, knowing full well I
would probably be home around 4:00, or 5:00 at the latest, knowing me. Plenty of time to put it all away. Somewhere.
I got back from Boston at a reasonable hour, but then I hung
out at my friend's house for another hour or so. After that I came home, had some snacks,
played with pictures I took in the city, and wrote the blog. Then I watched a movie. More snacks.
I finally decided I'd had enough around 1:15 a.m., trudging up the
stairs completely spent from the sun and the amount of walking I did.
I forgot about the shoes.
I moved all the boxes into the spare room so I could
sleep. This was a wonderful idea until I
got up in the morning and realized that the progress I made in the spare room was
now impeded by the stacks of shoes I put in the way. So the shoes moved to another part of the
room. Then they moved back into my room
again but on the floor (still ironically blocking access to the bed).
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| (Worse than my closet - for now) |
I didn't want to make the same mistake twice, so before the
work stoppage this evening, I moved the boxes of shoes yet again to a space in
my room that was recently vacated by racks I moved into the spare room.
Eventually my shoes will find a permanent home that does not
involve shorting my sleep time. Until
then, I will continue to move the shoes around and call it exercise. And maybe, just maybe, I might learn that one
project at a time is something to seriously consider. My way of doing multiple things on the fly
may create aggravating sleeping conditions, but when the chaos finally settles,
everything ends up being done at the same time.
Method to my madness?
Maybe. But I think my solution is
a "shoe-in."
