you got me but for how long?

The list never seems to get smaller. Two days ago, I think, I worked at my Paper Desk all afternoon and while the surface appeared to have less paper on it and the waste paper basket was almost overflowing, there were tufts and pools and small heaps of paper on the floor around my chair, plus special paper-clipped packets on nearby bookshelves and tables, all of it intended for elsewhere, not to be discarded. Where is elsewhere? You might well ask. A single packet might be labelled but where does it fit in a larger assembly of labels?

This afternoon I found something I could deal with: February birthdays. God bless Jacquie Lawson!

Even with a reasonably short end in sight, the task took longer than I thought. Six birthdays plus a coup[e of sidebars (“Thinking of you”) to relatives of the birthday-ees, with a very short note to everyone. You know that saying attributed to Mark Twain (1835-1910) apologizing for a long letter because he didn’t have time to write a short one. Actually, a lot of people have said it but it has been traced back to the French mathematician, physicist, and religious philosopher, Blaise Pascal (1623-62). He said it in French. Imagine!

Everything takes longer than I expected, and everything is very hard to label, as I have said. I am too eclectic. I never minded. I have always said my mind to me a playground is, but it’s no fun when I try to break it up and put my toys away neatly. If I don’t no one else will. I’m the only one who cares, for now, while I still can.

Maybe I’ll just play a little longer.