Nesting

I'm nesting.

Not the kind you are thinking of. But kind of.

As of yesterday, I would have told everyone to run for their lives before they entered my office/sewing/craft/stamping/closet/library room. Hazardous to your health, avoid at all costs, hazmat before entering.

And then the printer died. Our household seems to be enjoying a spate of electronic failures. After an expensive trip to Costco, new printer box in hand, I entered the scary room.

Alas. No way to transfer or organize so much as a tittle. Major hauling out of stuff - school supplies, give away piles, things for grands to do, magazine pile for hospital, haul to the garage stack...

It is nesting. I do nesting best when I am pregnant and about to give birth (I am not by any stretch of the imagination preggers) or when I have a deadline. How about three very big and important deadlines? With school looming in the near future? Writers of all genres say writing a book is similar to giving birth. Those manuscripts are our babies. Less in terms of blood, stitches, breast feeding, diapers, and hospital stays. But sleepless nights, angst, preparation, nurturing, snacking, obsession, swaddling,...

Throughout college, each time there was a final or a paper or a major project due, I had to organize my desk and get the room tidy. Only then I was able to concentrate on details.

One would think my house would be impeccable, with the plethora of due dates. Not true.

But my desk looks fantastic.