The more 'how to get organised' articles I read the more I realise that organising my life both thrills and terrifies me in equal measures. Thrills me because those types of articles offer my favourite thing in the world: hope. I can do that, I think and bookmark my way to sorting out my third drawer down, keeping track of those pesky socks, avoiding the paper explosion, finding the right sherpa to take me to the top of the washing pile... hope.
I purchase all the necessary tools - great wads of blu tac, nifty little notebooks, spools of labels for my pretty pink label maker and variously shaped boxes and baskets and tubs and jars.
I set up amazing systems where everything has a place and the world is calm and ordered and right.
I sit back, exhausted but with hope still shining out of me like a radiant sun and then...
The trouble with organisation is that it takes work. Really, really hard work. Turns out that stuff doesn't put itself into the neat little tubs on cue. Every day, every day, you have to go through and put all the stuff back where it belongs. At day's end, you can't put your feet up and have a glass of whine because you haven't done your sorting today and if you don't do it today, and every single day after that, things will unravel at a speed fast enough to make Usain Bolt's head spin. You can't even cheat and throw something into the third drawer down anymore because you've got all these little boxes in there where everything has a place and there is actually no allocated place in the known world for stuff-that-doesn't-have-a-home-because-it-cannot-be-grouped-with-anything-else-in-the-known-world.
So, you've got all the Stuff that Cannot Be Grouped, but worse than that you've got Yourself Who Cannot Be Fucked.
In the red corner is all those systems I've created and in the blue there is me. I get so bloody bored putting things away in the places that I've allocated them that after a while I just don't bother. In fact, some days the idea of having to spend another ten minutes or so regrouping everything into their neat little baskets makes me want fold myself up very neatly and put myself away in the linen cupboard.
So it piles up and eventually you've got all this stuff hanging around on the top of the very orderly, very neat system that you spent a lot of time creating. Your organisation system is effectively buried under chaos. You wonder, why did I bother creating this orderly, neat system when my house looks just as crazy as someone who never bothered in the first place? Why did I do that? Why?
All that stuff is depressing, but the idea of having to stay on top of it is even more depressing. So what's missing from my organised life is... me.
How do you get along with the organised life?