This Rose is A Genetically Unmodified Clutter Bug! It's Not My Fault!

Oh, my – this is organisation month? Nobody asked me about that. In fact, when I read that my dear, talented fellow Roses had put up that note about organisation, I almost fell off my office chair laughing. Indeed, I would hav e fallen off if all the stacks of books, paper and clutter around me hadn't kept me upright.

My shelves are cluttered with self-help books about how to live an organised life. My office floor is cluttered with empty plastic boxes that were supposed to organise my clutter if by some chance it should decide to jump into said boxes itself. The rack under the coffee table has lots of magazines with interesting articles about how to declutter. One of my favourites says to take photos of all the articles that mean something to you but you no longer need. Ha! So tell me, Ms. SmartyPants, just where do I store all those photo albums? Huh?

You see, I'm about a million miles away from being a neat freak Actually, I think it's some kind of genetic thing – I simply did not inherit a cleaning gene. Or a directional gene, for that matter. . Oh, I do have my moments – every now and again I catch up on filing and clear out my various spaces – only to be submitted to comments such as: Oh, look – there's actually a floor in the kitchen! Or Did you know there's a desk in your office under all that paper? And similar stuff that my family actually thinks is humorous. It doesn't exactly inspire me to keep up the good work.

I am organised as far as my writing is concerned - I don't miss deadlines because of clutter, and my Novel Planner Notebooks are a joy to behold!

But the rest of my life - that's another story. Of course, there's always someone to blame. My better half leaves tools all over the kitchen and newspapers all over the family room. Yes, he cleans up – eventually. And it's not unusual for one or another of our offspring to drop by with 'a box' of stuff they need to store for a while. For 'box' read several large containers. For 'a while' read 'forever'. Even the cats leave their toys all over the rugs. 

See, the mess is always someone else's fault.

The sad thing is that I know life is better and easier without clutter. It's just that sometimes I'm so busy with work and writing and family and  cooking and life…well, you know what I mean. I just can't keep up. When we became empty nesters I really had high hopes that the tidy parts of the house – the parts kept for visitors to see – would stay fresh and clean and tidy.

Fat chance.

Speaking of fat, I note that some of the Roses are looking to lose weight this year. Frankly, I can't see why – they're all gorgeous. Still, I admit I could do to lose a pound or twenty. Maybe if I chase around, bending and picking things up, hoisting boxes to the Value Village thrift store, running the vacuum cleaner, all that abs firming polishing and dusting, maybe I could actually make a dent in that, ahem, extra poundage.

Or maybe I'll perch the laptop on the treadmill, using the pain and anguish of that experience to write a bestseller. That's known as killing two birds with one stone. Lose the fat and gain a fabulous advance.

Then I'll hire a cleaner.

Glenys O'Connell is the author of several romance and mystery novels, children's books, award winning plays, and non-fiction works on travel and mental health. And she wonders why she can't keep up with the housework? She shares her large and cluttered home with her long-suffering husband, assorted visiting offspring, several computers, various thirsty houseplants, two exceptionallylazy cats and a variety of dust bunnies.