Disposing of things that breed in the night.

    Where does it all come from? Does it breed? Do ghosts add to the piles in the middle of the night? And why my place?
    I've seen pictures of other desks that are tidy, clean and attractive. Why is it always my desk that is covered with untidy piles of paper, containers of hand cream, various dead pens, old Christmas cards, shopping vouchers, crumpled receipts... Isn't it my turn to be pristine, to have an office that would look charming in one of those glossy magazines?
    Then it hit me. "This desk could to be faulty. Maybe I need to buy a new one."
    I raised the idea with Steve. He laughed, pointing out that only my side seems to be malfunctioning.
    We share a desk. It is old, antique even, and very large. It is configured with two towers of drawers on each end of the desk top. One set of drawers faces his side, one opens to my side. We sit looking at each other - well we would except I have a very high, wide computer screen that blocks his portion of the desk.
    Walking around my screen, I surveyed his side. It didn't quite fit the glossy magazine image, but it seemed to be functioning much better than my side. That would be right. His part of our joint world is always more ordered.
    Returning to my chair, my shoulders slumped. I considered dropping my head upon my folded arms in the magazine posture of despair. But...there is no room on the desk for my arms.
    Then, in a flash of inspiration, or was it frustration, I understood! The problem is I!
    Sigh!
    Why can't I be more like him? I marched outside and wheeled in the rubbish bin.With the broom I could sweep it all away, and then my desk would be clean.
    But, I couldn't. Everything seemed too valuable. There was the recipe for Peppermint Coconut Bark, the BAS forms, addresses that must be kept, unpaid bills,  invoices to be entered in MYOB, CDs of old sermons, and grand-kid's paintings. There were the sketch drawings for the book I started over a year ago, the character sheets for the one I started last year, the notes on another. The more paper I moved, the more treasures were disclosed.

    After returning the unfed wheelie bin, I sat in my chair and developed a plan. I will deal with a bit each day. I will use the filing cabinet. I will dispose of the eight A4 bound copies of early versions of Though the Bud be Bruised. I will!
    Is the plan working?
    There is definite progress. Now the mouse can move! That's a great help.
    Tonight I found a card. Opening it, I read, "To dearest Jo - writer of wonderful, soul-searching books".
    And I remember. I'm unique, made in His image to do the work that only I can do. I walk to the beat of a creative drum. I'm spontaneous rather than ordered. I enjoy being innovative rather than tidy.
    Now, if I can only find that piece of paper....

Not this girl - I'm not addicted

    I'm not an alcoholic! Nor am I addicted to nicotine or and kind of drug. No vices for this girl.
    I started smoking in my teens. I remember the day I purchased my first packet, telling myself that a few smokes wouldn't do any harm. By the time I had smoked half the packet, addiction was wrapping its tentacles around my throat. The fear of my mother made me quit. I balanced the remaining filthy weeds on their filters, lit them all and watched the ashes of my smoking life.
    For years I've walked in that self righteousness that comes from escaping the snare. But, if I'm honest  my addictive personality is exposed in other places like the bathroom scales! Recently I've discovered that some people can become addicted to carbohydrates. I didn't know such a thing was possible. I mean, you don't hear carbohydratics talked about very often.Where are the support groups? Weight loss groups you suggest? But they spend all their time discussing new and innovative ways to eat more carbs. I know. I've been there.
   Surely I'm not an addict. I can control my eating. When I wake in the morning, I give myself a pep talk. You can do this. Only two pieces of fruit (sob) and two pieces of whole grain bread. Easy.
    Well it is easy-  until I finish the first piece of fruit, or toast. Have you ever noticed that one piece is never enough? My body demands more. So I come up with some clever justification and have another. Then the chocolate jumps out of the pantry and assaults me. With a great struggle I push it back but not until a couple of slabs have accidentally fallen into my mouth. While in the pantry, I pull out the savoury biscuits. Feeling smug now because I've beaten the sugar, I spread crackers with butter and Vegemite. This is better. I need the vitamin B.
    I settle in my chair with crackers and that little oblong device that helps me while away time. I won't play long. I have things to do. Soon the plate is empty. I finish this game of Sudoku and grab a few more biscuits. Luckily I've left the spreads on the bench. I'm hurrying now. I need to try and better my score at Sudoku.
To free my hands, a whole biscuit jumps into my mouth at a time. Two hands are more efficient and enable me to get a better score in the game. I push away the empty plate. I don't want any more. See I can say no to carbohydrates.
    My fingers punch numbers into the grid on the screen. I watch the score. This may be a record. Just then the home phone rings. I pause. Oh, no. I've let myself become distracted! I pull my attention back to the task at hand. I'm relieved when the phone stops ringing. It was interrupting my concentration.
    A little later hubby comes in from the garden looking for lunch. Lunch? I'm not hungry and and I'm too busy. I think he has a problem. Maybe he's addicted to food. But, I can't be worried about that. I have a new level of Suduko to conquer.
    As previously stated. I don't have any addictions.