It started innocently enough.  I suggested to my interns that we put the two long tables together to give them more workspace for their scrapbooking project.  (Yes, I am that mean . . . I make my interns scrapbook.)  Putting the tables together wasn’t a big deal.  Cleaning off the one in the corner was a greater project than I anticipated.  Somehow that long rectangular flat space had become a repository of not just some scrapbooking supplies and my sewing machine (You’re right, I don’t have a “normal” office) but also of random piles of papers.

The last letter in my Meyer’s-Briggs’  is a P . . . I pile things.  J’s file; P’s pile.  I excel in my pile-it-ing skills.  Today, I’ve been trying to become more J like.  I sorted, and sorted, and sorted again.  I’ve thrown out tons of duplicates—it’s easier to print another copy than to find the one already printed.  I’ve divided things into new piles that I’m transforming into files.  There is a certain sense of accomplishment to creating all those files.  Seeing the surface of a table or two is a nice reward as well.

I have two great hopes with all this pretending to be a J.  The first is that I’ll be able to keep it up.  The second is that I’ll remember where I filed things.

photo courtesy of Valerie Like