Now, Where Did I Put That..........

I simply must get organized! That has been my mantra for all of my adult life. It is a goal I have yet to achieve.

When I was working, I was the very model of efficiency. My desk was bare of everything except whatever I was currently working on. (How about that dangling preposition, Hillbilly Mom? If I had said that correctly, it would have gone something like this: "except on whatever I was currently working." Does that sound right? Of course not.) But, I digress. Don't say I didn't warn you.

All of my filing was always up to date. I was able to anticipate my boss's every wish - most of my bosses, anyway. The jerks and lunatics were harder to read. But, the ones who just wanted to maintain an even strain were easier to anticipate. They all had one thing in common. They didn't want to attract the attention of upper management. I always met my deadlines when publishing the company newsletter. I was hardly ever late.

On the job, I was an island of organization surrounded by the sea of chaos that was the rest of my life.

I spent countless hours planning what I would do after work each day, only to have the plan unravel as soon as I got home. "Mom, we're out of milk." "Mom, we need to go to Wal-Mart." So, back into the car I'd go, forgetting my great plan for the evening.

I'm also a nest builder. Beside my recliner, there is a basket that is always full of little pieces of paper, catalogs and other miscellany. More often than not, it overflows and when it starts creeping across the floor, I might or might not toss out the oldest items.

I have been known to leave the dinner dishes on the counter until the next day - or even later. And, for some odd reason, I don't like to empty the dishwasher of clean dishes so I can refill it with the dirty ones in the sink.

Periodically, I decide to clean out the drawers in the table next to my chair, but I usually get so distracted by things I find in there, that I spend the rest of the time reading little notes to myself, looking at photos that I stuffed in there instead of putting them in an album, or reading carry-out menus. Those drawers are a treasure trove. Finally, I'll decide it's getting late, so I stuff everything back in the drawers until the next time.

I can remember times when I rushed out to go to work only to see my car and house keys on the kitchen counter, mocking me through the window of my closed and locked carport door. It usually took about 45 minutes for the locksmith to get there. After doing that twice, I got wise and started carrying extra keys. Duh.

I regularly got in a hurry while putting away groceries and put things in the wrong places, sometimes disastrously. I put a fresh jug of milk in the cabinet with canned goods one day. I have a habit of thinking I am out of something, like ketchup or Miracle Whip, and that thought seems to travel in a loop for two or three weeks in a row, and I end up with multiple items.

At work, my calendar reflected the birthdays of all my friends and co-workers. At home, the calendar is blank, and so is my memory for such things. Now, when I have an appointment of some knd, I write it on a post-it note and stick it on the side of my chairside table so I will see it, presumably, in time to keep it. It's not foolproof, especially if the appointment is for something I didn't want to keep in the first place.

In spite of the notes, my doctor always has to track me down and reel me in when I've avoided him as long as possible. He is in collusion with the pharmacy, which I consider unsportsmanlike. Nevertheless, I will eventually go to pick up a renewal of my prescriptions and there will be an admonishment attached from my sneaky doctor informing me that, once again, time has run out and it's time to bite the bullet and go to his office for blood work and consultation.

For years, my door sported a post-it note reminding me to turn my thermostat up or down, depending on the season, so it wouldn't keep coming on all day and run my electric bill through the roof.

Every New Year's Eve I made the same resolution. "This year, I'll get organized." But, what's a girl to do when she has a mind like an unmade bed? I'll tell you what. She quits making that silly resolution!