Stuffocation

It is day eleventy twelve of de-cluttering the corner of the spare room, laughably known as my scrap space. Removing the 's' from scrap would more accurately describe it.

I can spend forever tinkering with silly little bags of a dozen or so sequins , organising them into their respective colours but cannot seem to tackle the big stuff like ten years worth of patterned paper which catalogue the scrapbooking industry's evolving trends hilariously.

My obsession with woodgrain paper has spawned a whole box full of the stuff, another for Valentine's paper although I'm not the lovey dovey type and in the past twelve months I have clearly developed an addiction for metallic paints which is bordering on obsessive.

I own every adhesive known to man but can never find the perfect one for any given project. Name me a colour of watercolour pencil and I probably have it. What is it with pencil cases ? Nineteen at the last count.

I'm indulging in what the pop psychologists call diversion activity. You can spot this if you find yourself cleaning every toilet in the house rather than complete a report with a looming deadline. It has to stop. I must take this bull by the horns and wrestle it to the ground.

I have moved every item from one shelf to another in the desperate search for perfect order, boxed up stickers by shape, size and colour and even sorted my spray paints in accordance with the colour spectrum but still the fiddling continues.

I am going in for another bout of organisational therapy and I am not coming out until I can see  my desk again.

Incidentally the spark that prompted this post was hearing that James Wallman who wrote Stuffocation is on Woman's Hour this morning. Off to listen to  that now.