Let's face facts: if I allow myself to think about the giant heap of castoffs waiting for me to sort and decide their fates, I will get depressed.
If I think about how much stuff is already packed into that space, especially my art area, and how much I long for a little more room to breathe out there, I might even cry.
So, fiddle dee dee. I won't think about those things. Instead, I will cue up the Rocky theme song, feast my eyes on these clean, neat and super organized spaces, and pump myself up to work some magic.
Yo, I'm feeling so much better now. It might take me a full 15 rounds, but I will TKO that mess and whip my garage into an organizational prize fighter.
Honestly, though, I am not aiming for perfection. Especially in my art space, I'm willing to accept some cheerful clutter. If I can get it looking like this, I'll be happy enough to dance on the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
This would be perfect, thank you very much. Red Shoes
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I love to clean. And I love to tell stories about cleaning. Wanna read some more?
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