I need crampons and a servant to catch whatever I discard as I move up and across the mountain on top of my desk, and no – I don’t know where everything goes because it doesn’t all have homes to go to. There’s a plastic bottle of spray bleach right at the front; I killed a monster spider the other night.

From where I sit, on the bed, I can see two Christmas sweet tins that I know are full of crafting bits – they do have a home, of sorts, so I could easily stop typing and move them into the cupboard. It’s all the paper that stops me, the letters with their envelopes, the printed-out stuff that might be needed – even photographs test-printed on ordinary paper. Why did I leave that blue carrier-bag there? Now that does have a home, in the kitchen junk. At the top of the pile are two beautiful packs of tarot cards, vampires and fairies…and yes, they have a place to be too so why are they dumped on that heap?

Is it me, or does the universe have a plan to change my habits? I have photographic evidence of the surface of this desk, smooth and clear as a desert landscape just a couple of months ago…and the armchair beside it was empty then too. Yes, that’s another mountain – I can’t get away from them, they’re the bane of my life. Who said mountains don’t move? They are the fastest things on no legs.

I’ve got a £50 voucher for Argos somewhere on that desk so if I want to spend it I’d better climb into my gear...maybe I should take some antihistamine for any dust that is disrupted.

RATE THIS CHAPTER!

Author guidance for This exercise

If you can't bring yourself to do the job that needs doing, write about it. That's work, right? It's also good practice, and you can turn it into a blog post or slip it into your journal which will be collected into your autobiography...in the end.

:-)

updated Jul 21 '11 by ireneintheworld