So, let me explain about the cleaning thing . . . it’s not that I have a clean fetish, quite the opposite really. On the whole I’d say my hovel is no filthier than any other person of the bookseller persuasion. You probably shouldn’t eat off the floor, or any other flat surface just to be safe, but certainly over the counter is safe enough. It’s not really ‘cleaning’ cleaning anyway, it’s the kind where you root around through a dark cluttery corner of your life and decided there are a lot of things in there you can do without and discover some things you didn’t know you had.
Since I passed 45 at like, mach 1 and started heading for the far turn, I have been in a divesting phase. I got tired of constantly taming my inner pack rat and started envying those people at the other end. The ones who DON’T have cardboard boxes in their living room and actually have dishes in their cupboards instead of books. So, when I get frustrated or anxious I start shifting the things in my cage around. Sorting things into those classic piles, keep-give-throw but in our case we have keep-give-throw-sell. I haven’t managed to get rid of the boxes, I still have transient ones around. One marked “ebay”, another marked “donate” and still another marked – “find someplace to hide so I don’t have to decided what to do right now.”
After a few weeks of sudden bursts of energy, I have managed to get close to my goal. I moved anything related to buying and selling and shipping out of the apartment and into the room in the basement – now if I run a Cat 5 cable from the modem down to my new ‘office’ I can actually process orders without running the risk of a cat walking across the keyboard mid-postage. Now the workroom can go back to being a place to ‘work’ and my office can well – still accumulate clutter but with more room to stack it. I did find a lot of things I had forgotten about while I was at it. What I had thought was just me hoarding poster tubes, turned out to be two promo posters for Ralph Steadman’s Still Life with Bottle. Cheers.