Attacking imbedded concentrations of stuff

Here I sit in what was referred to as the "computer room" for many years.  It would be referred to as a living room in general parlance but not here.  It has two large worktables, at one time had two computers, still has two printers, and also has my main desk for toiling over paperwork, bills, taxes, medical claims, and assorted organizational and filing purposes.  Ancillary to all of this in the "computer room" is a sofa, two reading chairs, two small bookcases, and a piano.

Just to my right as I sit here at the computer on one worktable is the other, and it is absolutely loaded with stuff, the detritus of my younger daughter's middle school, high school,  and, heck, maybe even her elementary school years.  There are markers, colored pencils, crayons, pens, pins, ribbons, beads, paper clips, staples, pencil sharpeners, souvenirs, small school projects, notebooks, electrical connections, compasses, emory boards, mouse pads, a tape measure, a level, scissors, hole punchers, rulers, multiple bottles of wite out, protractors, duct tape, hair clips, glue, erasers, calculators, index cards, flashlights, a book, a frisbee, and more, and it is the perfect example of an imbedded concentration of stuff.  Due to younger daughter's indifference and our timidity in dealing with this without her participation, the table has been sitting mostly untouched for maybe three years.  She is on an extended semester abroad plus follow up trips, so now is the time to act.  She will not mind at all in my estimation.

There are other imbedded concentrations around the house.  Closets in general are a ready culprit. There is the main television and sleepover room in the basement with its large IKEA bookshelf, replete with board games, card games, video cassettes, and books.  There are two corners of the so-called library room(due to a wall to wall bookshelf) in the basement and both are just full of stuff including my antiquated golf clubs, a child's golf club set, a foot locker full of photographs and junk from my pre-1980's era, and piles of folders from my various jobs.  There is a large walk in closet in the basement that is full of clothes, maybe two are three items belong to yours truly, and almost nothing in there is ever bothered.  There are pieces of furniture in the dining room, including K's desk, that could use significant attention due to stuff overload on their tops.  Then there are smaller concentrations that abound from room to room, sitting there like snipers waiting to divert.

The goal here is to begin to attack this stuff.  First up, in the best laid plans, is the worktable to my right.  If dealt with, it would be a wonderful place to serve as tax center of sorts, so piles of 2013, 2012, 2011, etc. tax documentation could be neatly assembled there rather than on the floor around my desk or in a file cabinet in the aforementioned library room which is not at all convenient. Tax season seems to be a never ending event.  The government has just sent a review of our 2012 taxes that is looking for lots more mullah and it is partially right, my accountant did inadvertently make an error and fail to include one broker's statement, but there are other items that are absolutely incorrect.  If I really did have an account at Citibank that earned $9000 of interest in 2012 I would love to find it as that would obviously translate into some serious change, but I have no Citi accounts, no Citi 1099's.  But there is my SS# and an account# in the IRS letter.  This will be a pain and that's an understatement.

But I digress.  "First up" is a possibility.  The problem is that when this "clean up major hot spots mood" hits, the mind can go a little manic.  That leads to trying to do too much at once which inevitably leads to completing no one task.  Discipline must be brought to this.  Don't walk into the basement to get the drain cleaner out of the furnace room and then stop to look at the board games.  Don't to into a closet anywhere in the house and start looking for things for charity, not yet.  One thing at a time I say to myself.  Only discipline will allow anything to get accomplished.

Crossing my fingers.