Surrounded by paperwork and unfiled notes

Unfiled notes might be the same thing as paperwork, but I loosely categorize them separately. Paperwork is more official. The printed receipt from the bill you paid online, the confirmation that you signed up for a new website account for the client in question, the article that was so good you just had to print it so you could either finish it at your leisure instead of right now, or read it again and again. Notes are just that. Little scraps of paper reminding you of something, a scribbled phone number you intended to record before now but still haven't taken the time to write in the official place.

I'm surrounded by all of that. And it isn't getting any easier to manage. I'll tell you why. Every time I have the inclination, time, and/or discipline to reorder my office space, I run out of steam before I'm finished. Steam being loosely used here in place of...well, inclination, time and/or discipline. And so I have these lovely piles of...you guessed it! Paperwork and Unfiled Notes.

The piles stack higher and higher. Sometimes I do actually take the time to file them. I have a fabulous system. Fabulous, that is, when I implement it. Which I have not done in ages.

Now of course it grows, since I have to actually create more paperwork in order to accurately record the transactions of the recently-passed, much-alluded-to pottery festival. Receipts to document the expense of preparation, receipts and spreadsheets to further document the income. And etc., and etc.

Here's a little fantasy: I get to wake up every day and go work on a new product or project and every time I come to the point at which a record or some other bit of information that is recorded on paper becomes necessary or advisable, I create or receive said addition to my former pile and simply turn and hand it over to someone else. That minute. I don't advocate slavery in the slightest. I don't have mounds of disposable income to pay a personal assistant. I have yet to stumble upon a single college that sends their interns out to follow around some A.D.D. artist chick who can't get herself to the point at which anyone would call her professionally organized and pick up the pieces of the chaotic messes she leaves in her wake. So I'll just gripe about it in my blog.