I keep reminding myself it has only been two months and ten days since our big move. Things are supposed to be a little unorganized, right? Wrong! These boxes are slowly driving me insane.
Between writing, carpooling (it's a half hour commute to the school, however you look at it), cleaning (I have never experienced rapid dust accumulation as I have these past two months), and cooking, I make a studied effort to unpack and organize at least one box a day. Now that may not sound like a lot, but when all of your essentials are neatly arranged and put away, the remaining boxes shouldn't really be an issue. Except that they are.
Probably two-thirds of every box I unpack is nothing but junk. Why do we have all this crap? Where the heck do I put it? And why did we not dispose of it during the move? But, undoubtedly, every container yields at least one treasure, one essential item for which I have been searching since the day it was shoved inside.
And so, I labor on. This week, my dad and I (everyone should have a handy, retired dad--mine can build or fix just about anything, the McGyver of the white-collar world) are adding some shelves to a largish, spare closet between my kitchen and my dining room to create a butler's pantry where I can store overflow and duplicate pantry items, along with extra serving items, in a neat, orderly fashion. Of course, the trick is achieving a balance between form and function, but I have faith in my McGyver.
What does this have to do with writing? Absolutely nothing--well, nothing more than the sense of peace and accomplishment gained from moving forward, which will eventually allow my mind to focus solely on writing once again. Until then, I labor on!
Keep writing, and never stop reading!