Files. Miles of files. Piles of files. Miles of piles of files.I need to sort through the giant pile of files. I have paperwork going back as far as my oldest child applying for college ... fifteen or so years ago. It's insane. If I'm thinking about downsizing, then I should also be considering clearing some of this crap OUT of my life.
Today is the day.
I am reasonably organized. If I were to die right this moment, my children would be able to find all the important documents. Of course, they'd find all kinds of unimportant documents, too, like sales receipts from three Christmases ago, and contact lists from before the Internet was invented. They would, however, be able to locate both my will and my life insurance policies. I take this fact as a small sign of success.
I am forced to take a break, though. In addition to making dinner, I also have to give the shredder a break. It's only a small home office machine, and after the amount I feed it today, it's starting to smell like the motor might be burning out. I have to empty the shredder receptacle four times.
Best part is that my town just outlawed shredded paper in the recycling. I guess I'm going to jail because I carefully press the shredded paper into small paper lunch bags, fold them closed tightly, and stuff them into larger brown paper bags. I cover everything with random newspapers, magazines, and regular paper recycling.I am now down to hundreds of yards of filing instead of miles. The piles I still need to go through are not as daunting, and now I'll only be a little ashamed (as opposed to massively embarrassed) if I were to die right this second and someone has to go through my files. Hopefully, they'll say, "Wow, everything is exactly where it should be!" instead of, "Geez, she was a bit of a hoarder, eh?"
