I absolutely LOVE organization.
You wouldn’t know it to look at my house, although I do have spots here and there where I tell myself I’m brilliant. I can TETRIS an underwear drawer so it looks like a catalog. I have my dishes and mugs and bowls practically doing a ballet in my cabinets. My baking supplies are in sealed jars and labeled, and my laptop desktop is neatly sorted into folders.
(That’s a big but!)
(That’s what she said.)
I share a home with other people. Other people who don’t share my love for neat displays of stuff. One member of this home cannot stand to see an empty surface before it is filled up with magazines, computer bags, keys, phone, hats, recent purchases, receipts, junk mail, gum, etc. Whenever we are in a hotel, said person empties pockets onto every single surface; and not even in a pile. No, it has to be next to each other. Gotta cancel out that lovely expanse of empty horizontal space, it’s damaging to the psyche!
One member of the home puts things down and walks away. It’s not even amusing like “I pick things up and put them down” in a Swedish? Norwegian? Danish? Belgian? accent, it’s just putting stuff down and going somewhere else. Why there? Why now? What is your purpose? Are you coming back? (“Soon,” is usually the vague reply.) There are Christmas cards in that pile, for heaven’s sake.
One member alternates in a mood-swing sort of way with creating a mess, saying “I’ll get to it,” and then when everyone is driven to distraction by the tiny mounds of little scraps and heaps and glue and ribbon suddenly everything is gone. Everything. Including the bill that was left out to be paid ASAP, the receipt we needed to return something, the important phone number (on the bulletin board for heaven’s sake), and the newly purchased copy of How to Organize Your Home. This would be great if said member would actually remember where those items now lived, but couldn’t be bothered to draw a map and leaves us to stumble around the formerly friendly home weeping for the time when things could be found and wondering why there was a sponge in the piano bench.
Of course, these are all wonderful and amazing human beings, two of whom I gave birth to and suffer from C-section scars (and I’m really sorry if there are any males reading this, and I will totally understand if you need to go visit a testosterone site right now) and I seriously don’t expect them to change just because I need order.
Speaking of order, my yarn stash is starting to need some organization. There are currently five very large bags in one room containing either the raw materials or current projects, including all the tools needed. There are lovely clear bins in another room all containing wool in a moth-free demilitarized zone, but it’s not really organized. I think I need to visit ravelry and scroll through the organizing stash thread. I should emerge sometime next week.
In the meantime, don’t touch my stuff. I’ll get to it soon.