I cleaned my office. I mean, I really cleaned my office.
First, I kicked out my husband. He was laid off/retired (it came with a package, so it’s all good), and there’s no way I can write and share an office during the day. So he’s taken over our older daughter who’s in grad school at McGill’s room, and I have a room to myself.
Once his stuff was gone, I couldn’t blame him for all the junk, so I started digging through my own debris. Somehow I’ve been in the perfect headspace for serious decluttering. The more I dug, the deeper I wanted to go. I sorted and tossed and gave away. I went through every file drawer, every drawer of pens and notebooks, every shelf. Finally, after all the thinning and sorting and throwing out, I was left with all the crap on the desk. Damn.
Then I had a brain storm for how to store what needs to be there, went to Staples, found an even better solution – and ta da – for the Staples Easy button win – my desk is clear. I mean – it’s clear – except for a small collection of items in the corner. Instead of three piles of papers breeding into four or five and then moving onto the floor, there are no piles of paper on my desk.
There are folders in a holder that also holds my pens and some small items. My current writing projects are neatly stacked nearby. The rest is in my file cabinet.
It’s kind of freaky. Anyone who believes clutter leads to creativity will be horrified. But oh – it’s lovely. It’s lovely lovely lovely. Every time I walk into the room I want to sit down and write. It’s warm and welcoming and playful. I still have a too-long to-do list, but it’s in a folder with all the relevant papers, so I can ignore it until it screams at me and then find everything I need.
Now I write. For the first time ever, I’m going to try an unofficial NANOWRIMO (that’s National Novel Writing Month sit down and blast out a crappy first draft in a month) just because I can.
Because there’s room in my head to play. In my lovely lovely room.
Maureen
