It must be the end of my first quarter. My filing "cabinet" (aka the large metal box that collects things for me) has exploded. The other two filing boxes have exploded all over my living room entranceway. Oh, and the kitchen too.
This is when I need little elves. Small people who don't mind going through all of this paper and discerning whether or not it is important, recycling what isn't, shredding the incriminating notes (or at least all of the blessed addressed junk mail!) and figuring out where the slightly important (but not quite important enough to file) stuff goes. Regrettably, Brownies won't do. I need someone who isn't attached to any of the "art work."
The bills, the receipts, the statements - I can handle those. But what do you do with things that come in triplicate (never sure why), or with those oops printouts that have yet to reach the colouring drawer? And why is it that the leftover valentines always seem to get mixed in with the bank deposit slips? This isn't a bad thing in February, but in November it is tougher to explain.
No one pays me enough to go through all of the previous years' files and remove the extra stuff (like expired insurance contracts, rebate programs that we have the cheques from, each and every month of input accounts that have zero balances...) so I hate to file those things in the first place. Thus, the filing "cabinet." Unfortunately, the sheer volume of paper means a periodic explosion (or hissy fit on the bookkeeper's behalf, wherein the children run to voluntarily clean their rooms rather than watch the paper fly!)
Yes, I suppose I need the office. But I'm not sure it would accomplish much more than a colossal shuffle. The large piles of paper would then move to the office out of sight. Would they get dealt with? Would I end up spending my entire month of December trying to decipher what the heck we bought in February?
This philosophical question still disturbs me. As does the gas receipt from January 16th that must still be in Dale's wallet. He's still curling - they won the 'B' side, so apparently he'll be bringing home some sort of a prize. At least I don't have to account for that receipt!
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I read this just after you wrote it, and have since been watching your Mom clean and organize her (formerly mine)desk.
The scenario is about the same,except that I did not have to scurry off to clean the basement to escape the wrath....
So my dear, it is not only a secondary recessive genetic trait, it is an attitude that you have.
I have been instructed by someone reading over my shoulder that you got this from BOTH parents!
The upside of this situation for us is that during a casual conversation, we wondered how old our snow boots are... Within moments,your Mom had the receipt with the price and the news that they were exactly 5 years old to the day! In our lives, that is exciting...
Love, Dad
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