A Pile of Shame, Deconstructed
It isn't lost if I know which pile it's in.
Our next-door neighbors are building their house themselves, and today was the day their beautiful sweet new home got connected to the grid. Mazel tov! How exciting for them! And for me, because the power company turned off the power to our road in order to do it. Right in the middle of an important work meeting that I was leading. Despite several hardware updates, I still can’t plug myself into the breaker box and run the house on frustration alone, but all that energy had to go somewhere, so I decided to tackle the remnants of 2022’s ennui in the form of the Pile of Shame.
(Happy New Year!)
Everyone has one of these, right? No, it’s not fair of me to limit you. Everyone has at least one of these, right? A pile of mail, opened and not, books, stray bits of cash, receipts, random things that have arrived from parts unknown, all of it either having a destination or needing one to be created. The flotsam and jetsam of being alive when there is just so much that requires attention and just so little attention to go around. Every object a decision tree.
We all struggle with organization. I truly believe it. How could we not? The avalanche of paper that has grown up around civilization (before that, vellum and parchment; before that, tablets of stone and wax) threatens to take us under at any moment. And don’t even ask about the state of my inboxes. Sure, some of us are better at corralling it than others, and we all have our specialities. Some people have incredible filing cabinets, and their pantries threaten innocent passers-by with death by precarious can of kidney beans. Color-coded tabs have never been my friend. To invoke Anne Fadiman, though she was talking about books, not papers, there are “lumpers” and “splitters.” I am an unapologetic lumper-together of things. I can only manage with concise labels on large metaphorical buckets. It works for me. I can always find what I need.
Derrida wrote (I’m assuming I’m paraphrasing him here) that deconstruction is about being playful. I’m playing. This current pile, though relatively small, feels like a perfect summing-up of my last couple of months, and I thought I would share it with you. When I don’t have a buddy to sit with me and keep me honest as I talk to myself and sort and file, this is how I cope. A list of each item, with its eventual destination. I recommend it if you are the sort of person beset by piles.
The welcome letter for my new health insurance > Don’t really need it, but file anyway. (Why not?)
Gift certificate for a bookshop that a friend got me for my last birthday > Wallet!
Holiday card for relatives who live in Mexico > International postage.
Grounds map of the Vanderbilt Mansion > Recycle.
Letter from my cousin > Memory folder.
Holiday card from people I do not know and will probably never meet, but I love their collage cards all the same > Recycle. (You have gotten all the joy out of it that you are going to.)
8-pack of my current favorite pens > Get them into circulation, you loon, pens evaporate into thin air around here. (They advertise “Always vivid writing.” I can but hope.)
2023 planner I bought during a panic attack and will not use > Recycle.
Replacement credit card I should have activated in June 2022 > Activate it (Okay, I might be a little ashamed of this one, but it’s for something I never use and it’s fine. Although, you know. Do things on time, kids. If you can.) > For bonus points, put the card into your wallet.
Notes for a series of Kensington short stories I’m planning on writing in 2023 > Hang up on the wall where you can see it and be (hopefully) inspired.
Zine about grief > Shelve? What does one do with zines?
Tarot guide > Put with the decks! (This is the first thing I have actually been surprised by in this pile. I use this book a lot! Though, not recently. I guess now I know why.)
Archival stickers for Leuchtturms > Put in the sticker drawers > For bonus points, use one of the spine stickers on your latest completed bullet journal and shelve it with the others.
Unopened small cross stitch kit > Put this with all the others downstairs. (No, you don’t need a backup cross-stitch kit in your office “just in case.” What does that mean? You’re one flight of stairs away from all of them. What possible emergency could there be in which—you know what? Don’t answer that.)
Letter from the IRS informing me that they have done something helpful for me but ultimately much more helpful for them > Don’t begrudge them > File.
Dover booklet of stickers of trains > Put a sticker in your planner for having gotten through almost this entire pile!
Two DVDs of audiobooks, a holiday gift from a friend > Digitize! > Find your USB DVD drive > Remember you don’t have it anymore and it only talked to a computer you don’t have anymore anyway > Consider options > Decide to do it later > Start a new pile.
Easy as that!
I call them Piles of Shame, but I don’t feel all that ashamed. I have in the past, but part of my project in growing older is finding the pleasure in the ways I am that don’t hurt anyone. The piles don’t hurt anyone. They don’t even hurt me! They can be diagnostic. (Hmm, that executive function is really taking a break right now, am I feeling okay?) They can be joyful. (Hey, I’m really loving this other part of my life!) I have a system to make sure that the truly essential and urgent things get done. So stuff collects. It disperses. Like the tides. I think that makes me the moon in this scenario, which is just lovely, isn’t it?
I hope January isn’t too taxing so far, dear readers. I have some more book-related writing coming along, but for now I’m going to start sorting floss for a cross-stitch project (see, I told myself I didn’t need a backup) and cast on for a slinky scarf. I have earned it. Pile, deconstructed!