Cleaning House

I've had a problem over the last few years (that kind of statement you know is like cigarettes, or joints, if he is willing to admit to a few you just know it is way more than that) my filing cabinet is so full of shit that I can't get any more into it. I have stuff every where. It is getting to the point of being ridiculous. Sam has been on my back to clean up my study and the rest of the shit I have strewn around the rest of the house.

Sam thinks a clean house means a... um... what's the expression, ordered life, where I think a clean house means you are just gong to have to put all that effort in to clean it again... life isn't tidy.

So, after Sam made me promise to clean it up this week, (Monday, actually) I decided to tackle the, actually, problem and that was to clean out my filing cabinet once and for all.

Oh the pain. It is really hard fucken work, I tell you.

I have thrown out all of my writing. I seem to have kept every draft of every piece I have ever written. Lucky for me I have always had the habit of putting the printing date on every thing. It makes it easier, but only just. It's kind of a shame, in a sense, as all those previous ideas are now gone... but I am sure looking forward is better, in the end.

To begin with, I just threw them all into the recycle bin. But then I wondered if that was a good idea and since then I have been shredding everything, which makes the job twice as long.

I found my two half written novels, so I guess that is a good thing. (even if I did really know where they were)

I found two other started novels (I use the term very loosely - as my bulldog crawls into my lap and cuddles up, making typing just that much harder - you understand) that I don't remember at all. I guess that is a bad thing.

I turned my phone off so my boss can't call.

Some time later...

Sam called me to see how the cleaning is going. I have one draw cleaned out and have started on the second draw.

Sam had been with a friend of his in the friend's new Porsche. Sam wanted to know if I wanted to drive it, as his friend said we could borrow it. This same friend has a photo of himself with Abbott, Pyne and Bishop as a cherished possession, I presume. I nearly choked on my tea. I declined the offer of a car, I have no interest in driving some snot nosed Liberal voter's car. Who is my boyfriend mixing with, I thought.

I laughed. (nervously) "Sorry, but I don't want to drive some Liberal supporter's Porsche."

So, back to the big clean up.