I have been attempting, these past few days, to do some reorganizing. The kind of reorganizing that maximizes the use of space – to elevate little-used space to oft-used space. To move my crafts from the back bedroom to what has been known as the living room. A room where, in reality, little living happened, because living happened in the family room. Time now, I thought, to turn the back bedroom into a bedroom, because it is a small room to begin with, that space needs to be opened up – freed.
Yes. Of course. Easily said, right?
So why is it that a room that was relatively neat, relatively organized, which contained bookcases largely filled with books, the desk and computer, a sofa and dry sink, is now a disaster area? Declared such by me – because I wish to not get the federal government involved. That, I know, would only compound the disaster.
Why is it that the chaos has spread from the “living” room into the dining area? Why is it that now the dining table cannot be used at all for dining, nor for folding laundry (if only my washing machine – which has been awaiting repair for over two weeks – could really be utilized as a washing machine) which is what is was used for more frequently than dining – why is it that it now houses more of the disaster? Why is the chaos spreading, spreading, threatening to overtake the family room, which happens to be the only room in which one can feel a sense of “organization”?
Some progress has been made. I have created nine small boxes containing books to be donated to our volunteer ambulance’s yard sale which will be held in June, cleared from the bookshelves – now stored in the middle bedroom (this is progress?). Shelves have been cleared, storage containers moved in, and – after this photo was taken – some of the yarn stored in the back bedroom has been moved. You will note the “some of” – because much remains to be moved. As well as other craft supplies, both knitting, crocheting, beading – you get the idea. I fear the shelves may not contain what remains to be moved. I fear I shall spend months “organizing”, creating havoc in other areas, because once this project is complete, there are closets. . . .
I can hear you, you know. Asking “why on earth would she post this?” Because she writes because she must. Because she shares the dribble of everyday life, because she must. It’s called survival. It’s called satisfaction of those creative urges – the same ones that create the possession of too much yarn, too many beads, space-occupying miscellany.
It’s called “the way it is with those of my ilk”.