The Mess On My Desk

I have this mountain of work piled up on my desk, but my horoscope says:
“Sit back and watch the world go by today.” Hmm. As an Aquarius, I tend to take these things seriously. So what’s a girl to do?

The horoscope adds that even though the sun is about to leave my birth sign (oh no!), I should not try to “cram in as much extra work as possible over the next 24 hours.” Phew! I don’t have to? What a relief!

The thing is that a) the horoscope was from last week, but I like it so much I’m going to make it my NEW OFFICIAL HOROSCOPE FOREVER: NOHOPE4EVR. And b) it’s not that I’m trying to cram in work, it’s just that, duh, there’s too damn much of it.

I don’t work full time these days, yet my desk is in worse shape than when I was running a business. How is that even possible?

Of course, back then I had people. When my desk was a mess, I called in the troops and distributed things. They really loved me for that. Some of the stuff would end up back on my desk, but if I waited long enough, it was Too Late to do anything about it.

Still happens. Announcements of openings long past, the special deals on plays with deadlines months ago, the chance to save 70% or more at Lord & Taylor, February 18-20 only! Whoops.

But some things just won’t go away. There are medical appointments to make, break, and reschedule. My primary care doctor used to be my one and only: we went steady for years. Of course, I two-timed him with the gynecologist . . .

  . . . But that was the extent of my infidelities, unless you count the dentist.

Then came the gastroenterologist, the urologist, the chiropractor, and the various physical therapists for my knees, back, and other assorted pieces of my anatomy. And those tests: mammograms, sonograms, bone density. Need I go on?  We’ve talked about this before. (THE GENIE IS OUT OF THE ORIFICE. )

Did I mention that I am also the official and very reluctant reservations clerk around here too? Yes, yes, I did. (FULLY COMMITTED). Anyway, there’s one pile of stuff on my desk just for notices of plays, concerts, art openings, lectures, and various other cultural events I will probably never attend.

It gets worse. There’s insurance. Taxes. Building notices (they want to make us into a landmark!). Bills. Notes for the book I want to write and the blogs I want to post. Invitations that need RSVPs.  Photos I was supposed to send.

No Photos, Please!

Not long ago, in an act of feng shui run amok, I attacked The Pile and found this snapshot of a nice looking couple I thought we had met in Ravello, Italy, five or ten years ago. There was a London address attached on a post-it, so I sent the picture. Better late than never. Or so I thought.

Two weeks later, I got a letter from London, with two photographs enclosed. One was the photo on the left. The couple I had sent it to, being British and all, sent a Thank You Note, pointing out politely that it wasn’t them. They were in the second picture, below, sporting sun tans and pina coladas at a resort in the Caribbean, where we all might have met.
We have no idea who any of these people are.

Listen, it could have been worse: after all this time, the couple I sent the photo to could have been divorced  — or dead.

I know, I know. I could call Shirley,  the Life Style Organizer who took the knots out of my knickers (THE CLOSET CLEANER COMETH ). But there’s a lot of stuff here even more personal than panties, some dating back to the Year Gimmel, that I feel I have to sort through before anyone else does.
 
So I remind myself of the physician’s oath, “First do no harm.”

If I leave The Pile untouched, I will do nothing further to confuse the good folks of London, the Caribbean, or The Universe. If that rationalization doesn’t cut it, how about the final sentence in my New Official Horoscope, an idea I find disturbingly comforting:

“If it’s not already done, it’s not worth doing.”

Amen.