I have seven books on how to get organized. One of them boasts I can even do that without resorting to arson.
I have hired professional organizers, had friends come over and tackle my mess by force, been offered a slew of suggestions by people I loved, and once I shoved everything on a table top in a box that I didn't open for a year. None of these tactics worked. I'm still (and this is for my mom) "running around with my head cut off." (Sorry. Couldn't resist the private joke.)
If my mom lived near me, I'd beg her to come over and make lists with me. If my sister lived near me -- and hadn't disowned me due to a freaky religion we were raised in and she's still a part of -- I'd beg her to come over and help me dig my way out from the laundry pile.
Frankly I'm out of stories and excuses why things don't get done and why I'm so disorganized.
I think I have a smidgeon of ADD, but I'm not telling anyone that. What a convenient excuse.
I'm at a loss as to what to do about it. And when I talk to others and ask for their opinions and advise AND ACTUALLY TRY IT OUT ('cuz I really do), none of it works. And I don't know why.
I'm stymied. Really and truly.
I'm completely overwhelmed. On my desk are three books I need to review (strike that, four). My living room contains a veritable avalanche of papers waiting to happen -- stacks that need to be organized but will just get stuffed in drawers awaiting a move across town in a month. I have a pile of recycling laying on the floor, too, because I haven't walked across the apartment to the kitchen -- to that narrow spot between the refrigerator and the wall where you keep the folded up brown grocery bags -- to wrestle one into place beside the overflowing trash can and the basket filled with miscellaneous boxes of envelopes. Because. Dude. Apparently one should always have four open boxes of different sized envelopes at one's disposal.
My coffee table is mostly cleaned off because it is only holding: a notepad, a pen that actually works, two candle holders, a stack of magazines, a stack of books, an IKEA catalog I've been drooling over, trash, a spoon, a glass of water -- half full, orange peels, and a bottle of prescription medication.
The couch cushions are strewn about having an orgy with a few blankets. I've been sleeping on the couch because the pile of clean laundry on the floor of the bedroom is moving. Every time I walk in there, it has crawled a little farther onto my bed and taken up residence. I refuse to sleep on it again until I've excavated the sheets from the pile and properly made the damn bed.
The clothes can stay there.
The dishes are thankfully done.
I did them Saturday morning before I dropped Robert off at a friend's house to play, and took Aubrey out for manicures, pedicures and lunch. Also underwear. Cuz that's what girls do. Our date also included consumption of hot beverages from Starbucks and lunch at Cafe Yumm. I haven't eaten at the house since I did the dishes that morning ... except that orange from the coffee table and a Vega smoothie.
I had plans for Sunday but they were interrupted by a flat tire. And flat tires on Sundays are horrifically inconvenient. Not only do they make your Portland plans impossible, but you are also stranded within walking distance of Firestone. Needless to say, I did not get any laundry done that day.
I spent four hours this morning researching counselors for my kids and calling the insurance company. Again, no laundry done.
I know I keep bitching about the laundry, but I have one more thing to say about it and then I'll shut up. The washer and dryer at my apartment building sucks dirty toenails. The washing machine doesn't spin all the water out of the clothes (specifically towels ... of course), so that when you move them to the dryer they are either actually dripping or make a sloshy smacking sound on the dryer walls when you transfer them -- like galoshes tramping through muddy puddles. THEN you need to pay for THREE dryer rotations before your neighbors get fed up waiting and dump your towels on top of the dryer so they can have a turn. And when you go to retrieve them, they are still damp. So damp, in fact, that being hung in the bathroom for sixteen hours -- I'm not even kidding -- still don't dry them out.
So even if I find time to do laundry that's not being taken up by: being held hostage by my flat tire repair at the only tire store in Eugene that's open on a Sunday -- on the first day of the biggest tire sale of the year -- or trying to find my kids a counselor that takes their insurance, or spending ten minutes looking for a matching outfit to wear to work (except the socks, which I couldn't find, so I went to work without any) .... I STILL can't get any done because the friggin' machines don't work properly.
I feel worn out. Everything seems to take so long to do. And my list of chores is so long. And ...
I hate whining.
Because I hate whiners.
And I hate it when I whine.
because I hate whiners.
And now it's time for bed and I feel like I didn't get anything done today.
My mother-in-law once said, "Instead of making a To Do list in the morning, make a Look What I Did list at night." So, as a gentle reminder, before I go switch the laundry and go to bed, here's my Look What I Did list for today:
~spent three hours on my laptop narrowing down a search of counselors to two; called them and left messages.
~called insurance company to verify insurance-y things that are too annoying to list here
~made more phone calls to therapists and receptionists
~switched a couple of loads of laundry
~went to work at the restaurant
~talked to ex on phone and texted him two or three times -- mostly annoying
~writer's critique group
~talked to N on phone about being disorganized -- maybe thirty minutes
~wrote cathartic blog post on my insane life
~more phone calls to therapists
~drooled over IKEA catalog
~switched laundry again, twice
~made up yoga bag for tomorrow morning
~readied for bed
~actually set yoga alarm so I could go to class in the morning
That doesn't feel like nearly enough.
Maybe tomorrow I'll get organized.