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....