Two weeks into the new year the mess in my work space has reached critical mass. If I don't do something soon an archeologist of the future may find me buried in layers of my own history. I can't write or draw or even pay bills in the middle of this chaos.
I set aside all day Monday to sort through papers, photographs, drawings, art supplies, books, newspapers, letters, files, and too many useless treasures. I look at the piles of like items littering every inch of the floor and wonder how to implement a method of organization. File cabinets, drawers, and shelves are already full.
Several inches of file space free up when I decide to recycle documents related to my job with Right Brain last year. Although I'm not ready to trash the whole experience, a large quantity of paper can go to the blue bin by the curb.
I take out a box of old file folders emptied when I cleaned out my father's shop. The labels handwritten in pencil are easy to erase. Files marked "Hand Tools," "Joiner," and "Rotted Wood Turning" are changed to "Writing Notes," "Banner Project," and "Family Research."
I wonder - how long will it be until my children empty the contents of these file folders into a recycling bin and erase my handwritten labels? Maybe it doesn't matter as long as I don't die unhappy and alone like my father with a file cabinet full of unfulfilled dreams.