S.W.A.P.
In my lexicon, swap has come to mean "stick with a project," as in, meet the deadline. I always finish and mail the piece but my tardiness has become unacceptable. I tend to assign blame to my illness, after all, having to go to bed at 9:00 and sleeping until 9:00 with a nap or two does erase a few valuable hours from the day. But it's not all due to time, or lack thereof, or the needs of my children and ever-messy house. Disorganization has haunted me all my life and now is an enormous, unsavory beast that trails around behind me, taunting, from room to room, pointing, sneering at the piles, the clutter, the projects I should have done last week, last month, last year? I suppose the key to organization is getting that way and sticking to the habits of tossing, having a place for everything and replacing them when finished. OK, so now I'm laughing so hard my side hurts. This confessional brings to mind the fabulous conversation I had with the intrepid, gifted artis...