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One of many issues

  • Posted on December 12, 2011 at 10:00 am

So I have this problem. I can’t seem to be able to throw papers away. Or throw…STUFF… away, really. It piles and piles and then I move the piles around and SAY I’m going to file it where it belongs…

You know the drill. Move the piles again. Until something important gets lost and I have to go through the piles to find it. And the piles, they are prodigious. Bills. Statements. Bills.

I burned out the motor on the shredder.

I cannot throw these documents in the trash. They have shred-worthy data on them. And I take the shreds and put them in the compost pile and then my next year’s garden will be nourished by a healthy helping of paranoia.

Except for the small problem of the shredder not working.

These things don’t need to be filed; I don’t keep records like I used to. I check my bank account daily, sometimes several times a day online. I’ve gone paperless everywhere I can, pay bills through the bank’s webpage and still the piles grow.

The icing on the cake? Oh, that comes in the form of the Stuff Mama left here for me to handle. Piles upon piles of paperwork with sensitive data on it. Tax returns from 1995 to 2007. Checking statements with cancelled checks. Book after book after book after book of check duplicates.

And then finally, the solution hit me.

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Somethin’ tells me I’m into…somethin’

  • Posted on February 10, 2010 at 10:02 pm
This entry is part 3 of 3 in the series Write of Passage

It’s quiet in here. Quiet except for the tap tap tapping of my keyboard, which echoes through the vaulted ceilings, bounces around the trophy cases and off the books before going where all good taps go to rest. A croupy cough and sniff joins the tapping, poor soul. The temptation to scoot over there and slip into nagging-mom mode rises higher with each sound. She came to school to get an education – the first lesson is to take care of yourself.

It’s quiet in here. The kids are in bed, finally. Their backpacks stand at attention by the front door, waiting for the grab-and-dash of morning. There are flat-packed boxes are on the floor, waiting for me to unpack them and turn them into a 3-d sculpture, a functional piece of furniture. They’ve been standing sentry since before Christmas.

It’s quiet in here, except for the swishswish of the dishwasher, the thrumming hum of the dryer, the staccato thud of the washing machine.

It’s home.

Look around you and write about what you see. Create something positive out of that. Is there anything you can take away from the space you’re in every day that can bring you to a better emotional place within it?

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5 comments on Somethin’ tells me I’m into…somethin’