We moved into this fixer-up January 2013 and have slowly begun to start projects and not finish them. Our den is down to the studs. The brown granite guest bath – and don’t get me started on this one – has had the bath resurfaced but needs a new vanity, one not sized for children. Our office/TV room/box storage/coat closet is way too many things at once right now and our bedroom walk-in closet - that has not been remodeled in the slightest, don't judge the fixings please - leads to the very small pink (!) master bathroom, the walk-in closet is a mess. My point is; nothing is where it will be someday. But that is no excuse for this:
This picture is husband's 'file system' on the counter in the walk-in closet. The one he says he knows where everything is and if I touch it, I screw up the whole system. The system that’s affected if I move things or throw things away or pile things in to neater piles. Any of the above and I incur the wrath of husband. He says he has a photographic memory of where each "document is filed" and if I move it, I “screw up the system.”
This is the system he phoned and asked me, quite franticly, to find a card in. The card of someone he was meeting with but he'd forgotten their name. The business card, he said, that was in the "file system" but he wasn't sure quite where. So much for the stupid photographic memory.
I started with the obvious pile of business cards on the second shelf. A nice neat pile of cards of people he's met at writer's nights over the last nine months but not one of them was the card I was looking for. I next sorted through the pile of crap - sorry, important documents that can't be thrown away - on the counter. There I found a ticket from a concert event from April of this year, a pair of maps from his dad’s visit and a mess of receipts. Receipts that husband apparently can't put into his pocket without folding into tiny little squares and then, if he remembers to take them out of his pocket before his pants get washed, throwing them oh so delicately on the counter when he gets home. Sorry. That was incorrect. He’s not throwing – he’s "filling" them.
I looked carefully through the pile but nothing. I then checked the dish with the keys. The dish that has more than just keys; pieces of wire, pocket fluff and half a dozen guitar picks but not the card I'm looking for. There's no card in the dish with the coins and pocket fluff and guitar picks in it either. There are million more receipts though. Receipts he doesn't need ever again folded and folded and then folded again and "filed" in the coin dish. There are dozens of business cards in the piece of window trim that is currently serving as some sort of card file. Some of them are from our first week in the house for companies we're not going to use. But they're "filed." In the window trim.
It took me approximately half an hour to find several cards that might be the card, send pictures of them to husband and then carefully re-file them in the crap-fest that is his "file system." I rewarded myself with two mint dove chocolates, two mini heath bars and a heap of judgement while sitting at my desk. My desk where I haven't filed a damn thing in weeks, have no idea where anything is and just move piles around to work. I'm not in the least self-righteous about it though. Only a wee bit smug.
Or at least I was, till I posted the picture. The only way I'm standing higher on the mountain of "I'm better than you because..." is that this is actually a desk and not a walk-in closet. Cleaning my desk has just moved to the top of the To-do list. Damn husband!
My name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me