September 1, 2008


I'm trying to de-clutter my life. Or at least, just my desk. Now, before you think 'beh, that's so obsessive', let's just point out that mine is not the realm of the beautifully-arranged, craft designer wonder-house to be showcased artfully on my blog. Oh no. My house is a roof for books. Shelves of books. Piles of books. Books under the bed. (There would be books in the closet, too, except that the closet is filled with fabric.)

A beautiful junk heap, that's what I call it!

I quite like it this way. My books are my friends. I've read a lot of them, and I even paid for some of them. (Gifts and review copies, folks - what were you thinking?) Both my husband and I were once book reviewers, and so we would get 3-4 in our in-trays, each, per week, with a note saying; 'Please review and keep if you like'. -We wrote a lot of reviews.

So why the flutter over the clutter? Well, after the Big Trip 08 - our 3-month jaunt through Europe and Canada - we came home to find that someone had mysteriously shrunk the house. I mean, it's all still sort of where it was, only everything seems smaller. And I want to do some sewing, and some writing, and the papers and books are getting in the way.

It must be spring insanity. I'm sure if I lie down for a while, it will pass...


PS - I agree with Yatzi on some things. No, my place is not that bad!

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