This is the name of my office. It's soft, welcoming, and incredibly zen. I've endeavored to make it so. But it's also the first place things are tossed when I'm in a bit of a hurry. I still have Christmas presents on the day bed in here, and since this last Saturday was my birthday, I now have birthday presents lurking about.
It's time to clean.
Now. I'm not touching the hell closet yet. That's the lovely closet in here which is literally the catch-all for what I don't use in the Sanctuary, or at least don't use right now. I need to organize it because I've taken to simply stacking things on top of other things.
Bad Crystal.
I write better with clean spaces. I don't mean spotless because that's a ridiculous ideal for me. I simply mean put up and organized some. My desktop is cluttered a bit which is absolutely not a writing ideal. I need a mostly clear space so I can make notes.
I have an old desk chair I've piled Christmas presents on. That needs to go out in the trash. I'm having a hard time letting it go. Silly, yes?
Going to have to rearrange the nooks and crannies on my desk since I have more things to put on top of it. I have eleventy trillion writing utensils in four containers, but now I have a distressed wood box which houses my 4x6 pastel index cards I want on top of my desk. No room at the inn. Have to fix that. Right now I feel...crowded. Not conducive for my best writing.
I've errands to run tomorrow and will probably tackle this mess at some point so I can catch my breath and refocus on the writing. Because, like the hokey-pokey, that's what it's all about.
Always writing*
...even with this messy desk
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