I realized the futility of the situation over the weekend. No matter how hard I try, there will always be piles of stuff in my house.
They may be contained on the newly-cleared-and-almost-all-put-away desktop.... the real life desk top, not the one on my computer. Actually, I probably shouldn't have brought that up, since the icons on my desktop include wedding planning (the event was in 2012) and several shortcuts to the same empty New Folder.
They occupy the corners of my garage, and the theoretically-open-spaces where the garbage and recycling bins reside. Some of them are items meant for those cans; they must have arrived when the cans were full or out on the street. It's not trash, for that would smell. This morning, though, I noticed a pile of papers which are of no further use to us. I suppose I should have bent down and put them in the bin.
That's what happens. I see a mess and I recognize the mess and I shrug my shoulders. An organizing web site I visited suggested that I retrain myself to act if it will take two minutes or less, and I've had some small successes with that approach. I am lacking consistency, and therein lies the problem.
JannyLou and Fast Eddie have a lovely view of our third garage door, the one for the golf cart which I've repurposed as my potting shed and GRIN's storage shelves. I've had irrigation issues and planting sessions and run two GRIN events. Those facts are obvious to the naked eye.
It's not that there aren't places for these items to go. I created them when I established this outpost. It's just that by the time I'm done squatting and re-tubing and carrying and lifting I'm too exhausted to take the time to bend and lift and shake out and put away. I should probably stop working ten minutes before I hit total fatigue, but that's not my nature.
And so, the piles sit.
I picked up almost everything from my closet floor last week, although you'd never know it by what is there right now. I'm giving away socks and piling up winter clothes to wait for me in Little Cuter's Illinois basement and I have all these Georgetown sweatshirts which I never wear because it's never cold enough here in Arizona and they are all piled, not-quite neatly, on the floor.... alongside the vacuum bags in which I plan to store or dispose of them.
Even when it should be easy for me, I don't seem to do it.
My parents weren't like this. I don't remember my mother picking up after me so I must not have been like this when I was young. I wish there were someone around to tell me if this is an skill I acquired late in life, but, alas, all those grown-ups are laughing at me from Heaven right now.
I know they are laughing, because it's absolutely ridiculous. Five minutes twice a day would probably solve the problem, once I reach a state of equilibrium between the mess and the available storage. That doesn't seem unmanageable to me.
Now, all I need to do is get there.