DIG OUT THE CRAP IN THE OFFICE DAY

Today is Start Digging Out From Under an Office Full of Crap Day.

I know this is true because I decide to start decluttering my office while, across town and completely unbeknownst to me, my pal is also cleaning out her office.  It’s a cool, breezy day, a day when being outside would be perfect.  There’s something about the crisp air streaming in through the windows, though, something that begs to air out a house and get some organizing done.

I’m not going to lie: My house looks a little bit like a bomb went off or like an earthquake has shaken its contents around.  I grow weary of apologizing for living in semi-mayhem.  I know half of my classroom has come home with me this summer; I know I don’t have room for the kayak that is delivered this afternoon; I know I have years and years of photographs to sort through; I know I have hundreds of books just begging to be read (along with the ones I have to read for school); I know I have enough fabric backlogged that I could open my own store; I know, I know, I know.  All of these things I truly know.

So, today – office.  After several hours, it doesn’t appear as if I have made a huge amount of progress, but I actually have.  More things are finally finding forever homes than temporary homes, and this pleases me.  What doesn’t please me is that neither my throw-away pile nor my donate pile makes much progress.  Perhaps I am more organized than I give myself credit for, or perhaps I am so disorganized that I cannot function sanely.

A moment of elation comes when I realize that the shelves of books I have in the office are already organized.  I did that two weeks ago when searching for which Janet Evanovich books I need to complete my collection.  That day, one thing touched another, and, before I knew what was happening, six bookcases were reworked.  Yay!  One side of the office is already done, done, done!

Even though piles of different items still litter the office, there comes a momentary panic when my youngest announces that he is searching for his Social Security card in order to go to a job interview.  Not to worry!  There are only three possible places it can be.  Well, okay, four, but the fourth option is terrifying; the fourth option is that my son might actually have his SS card somewhere in his disorganized room.  My mind refuses to go there yet, though.  I’m going through my three options first.

Option #1 – the card is in the file box inside the folder marked “Documents.”  Nope.  Birth certificates, ID paperwork from when the kids were little and went through fingerprinting with Scouts, and passports.

Option #2 – the card is in the file box inside the folder marked “Social Security.”  This is where it should be.  Instead, the tear-off section of his card is there, but the card is not.

Option #3 – the card is in the large Union Jack box under an eighteen-inch-deep pile of papers that need to be filed.  This is the best bet for finding the card, so I dig in and start sifting through papers carefully in case the card is stuck between something, even though I know I usually put the smaller documents to the side.  It takes about fifteen minutes to reach the ziplock bag with birth certificates and … wait for it … wait for it … two Social Security cards: mine and my son’s.

Oh, yeah!  From back when we got our passports!  Silly me.  I should remember that as soon as I see the passports in the first file folder.  Crisis averted, and the pile of papers easily goes back into the to-be-filed Union Jack box.

I look around.  The office is in a semi-static state.  Time to pack it in for the afternoon.  Is it done?  Not even close.  Can I navigate through it?  Kind of.  Is it organized enough to find important things in a hurry like Social security cards?  Apparently so.

My pal calls.  She has emptied out an entire large desk and gotten it ready to go out to the freebie-giveaway part of her driveway.  We both cheer each other and go out for frozen yogurt.  After all, no sense in wasting the entire gorgeous day inside.