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Shadow Organization
Sep. 13th, 2001 03:45 pmYesterday, I purchased my first file cabinet. I have always quite liked the idea of files and of filing; it's almost a necessity, given my tendency to write on whatever scrap of paper presents itself -- napkins, menus, receipts, bubble gum wrappers, shoe rubber, erasers, boxes. . .
Valancy says she does not understand my filing system, but as it is not particularly meant to be understood, I see no especial harm in this. That is not to say that my system doesn't have a certain inescapable logic dancing around the edges, simply that it's subtle. The trick is to ignore the careful color coding and the distinctive directions in which the tabs point. It also helps if you understand the cryptic epithets I use for labels -- but I assure you that this is for brevity instead of misdirection. Some of them are actually quite straightforward, such as "journal" and "argument/manipulation."
All right, so the "journal" file doesn't precisely contain my journal so much as esotera like old MASH games and obscure shopping lists, but I keep those things for a reason, and you'll feel unspeakably foolish later for having questioned it.
It should be stated, for the record, that I am not a pack rat. In point of fact, I regularly buy storage devices too small to contain my possessions, so that I will be forced to get rid of them; otherwise, I run the risk of buying too large a space and growing like a goldfish to fill it. Possessions, to me, are more of a burden than a blessing -- one has to care for them, and make room for them, and worry about their well being, and -- God forbid -- ponder how to complete the set.
There are, of course, certain exceptions in which I take pleasure. These include things like books, games, costumes, sheet music, tools, and art supplies. And given the choice between something elegant, like depression glass, and something vulgar, like paper plates, I will inevitably choose the finery. However, I never need these things. No, it is almost solely art and information to which I devote my love. And my files.
Not that most of this filed information is of any value to anyone but myself -- old hall passes, battered caricatures of ex-classmates, and a scrap reading "Faith, Hope, and Charles," which goes on to list the seven deadly sins in counterpoint to naval ranks.
Look at it this way: I don't question what you keep in your glovebox.
Valancy says she does not understand my filing system, but as it is not particularly meant to be understood, I see no especial harm in this. That is not to say that my system doesn't have a certain inescapable logic dancing around the edges, simply that it's subtle. The trick is to ignore the careful color coding and the distinctive directions in which the tabs point. It also helps if you understand the cryptic epithets I use for labels -- but I assure you that this is for brevity instead of misdirection. Some of them are actually quite straightforward, such as "journal" and "argument/manipulation."
All right, so the "journal" file doesn't precisely contain my journal so much as esotera like old MASH games and obscure shopping lists, but I keep those things for a reason, and you'll feel unspeakably foolish later for having questioned it.
It should be stated, for the record, that I am not a pack rat. In point of fact, I regularly buy storage devices too small to contain my possessions, so that I will be forced to get rid of them; otherwise, I run the risk of buying too large a space and growing like a goldfish to fill it. Possessions, to me, are more of a burden than a blessing -- one has to care for them, and make room for them, and worry about their well being, and -- God forbid -- ponder how to complete the set.
There are, of course, certain exceptions in which I take pleasure. These include things like books, games, costumes, sheet music, tools, and art supplies. And given the choice between something elegant, like depression glass, and something vulgar, like paper plates, I will inevitably choose the finery. However, I never need these things. No, it is almost solely art and information to which I devote my love. And my files.
Not that most of this filed information is of any value to anyone but myself -- old hall passes, battered caricatures of ex-classmates, and a scrap reading "Faith, Hope, and Charles," which goes on to list the seven deadly sins in counterpoint to naval ranks.
Look at it this way: I don't question what you keep in your glovebox.
