Paper and the Writer

I've finally done it - pulled every single bloomin' piece of paper off my desk, out the filing cabinets, and off the floor, and am now doing the impossible - weeding them out. Why, when computers were supposed to cut down the paper flow, do I seem to have more paper than ever? Don't get me wrong - I love paper. Books come on paper. Love notes on paper are wonderful. Valentines, oh yeah. But somehow, the paper that surrounds me has been breeding in the dark like overly fertile bunnies. It has to go!

When I get going deep into the throes of a book, I block out the mess around me and focus on the screen, on the words. But eventually, there comes a moment, as stuff starts sliding to the floor, when the chaos must be terminated. Yes, this is too much for recycling. Only the shredder will do, since once it's gone, I can never pick it out of the recycling pile. How awful to have this love-hate thing going with paper. Bond stock. Linen count. Color. Weight. It's so

And so distracting. I need space in the cabinets, space on my desk for print-outs of my daily chapters. The chaos must go! Yes, she cried, seizing another file and wondering why its contents are twelve years old and no longer relevant, and it's STILL in the drawer.