putting my affairs in order

Every cloud has a silver lining. Or, at least, a well-ordered one.

At least, that it what I have been led to believe about people who have been confined to their homes in the hope they can avoid the embraces of the virus. They speak glowingly of lists made, tables tidied, and closets cleaned.

That has not been my story arc these past few months. Instead. I have been living out the same lament that Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans: "I don't understand my own behavior - I don't do what I want to do; instead, I do the very thing I hate!"

At times, Paul had a tendency to be a drama queen. I tend to lean toward underachieving. In my case, I have great intentions to do something, and then I simply don't get around to it.

Here is a perfect example. I have a file box where I keep my important documents. Tax records. Retirement matters. Car registrations. Things of that nature.

And, of course, every transactional receipt I have received in Mexico. Proof of payment for electricity, telephone, my postal box, and appliance purchases. That may seem like overkill, but the habit saved me money and time twice recently.

Last year, I had paid for my postal box, but, when a new postmaster arrived, I was billed again. Fortunately, I had my receipt, which he examined somewhat skeptically. Without it, I would have had to pay twice.

When I lost my permanent resident card in March, I gathered up all of the documents I knew I would need. But I was thrown by one request -- a receipt proving I had paid the cost of the original card. Who would keep something like that?

It turns out the who was me. I found it buried deep in my visa file. I have no idea what would have happened if I had not found it.

That is the good side of my files. The bad side is that I seldom take the time to file individual receipts when I receive them. Instead, I stack them on top of the file box.

When I had to look for the resident card receipt, I decided I was going to set aside time to organize the two-year accretion of paperwork. Not only was it prone to avalanches, it was heavy enough that a pencil at the bottom of the pile had started to turn into a diamond. After all, I had plenty of free time in my sovereign kingdom of self-isolation.

As I noted earlier, that was March. I had placed the file box and all of the documents on the patio table -- where it dutifully sat for a week awaiting my attention. Its presence must have vexed me because I toted the lot back to its original position. And did nothing more. Until today.

What kicked my anal retentive side into gear was a comment on the Facebook edition of Mexpatriate. In i'm not a hoarder -- just a prudent housewife, I showed you a photograph of my eccentrically-stocked pantry. Marge Tyler, a well-known cook here, commented that I needed a "floor/cupboard plan for that."

She was correct. What had started as a well-organized pantry, had morphed into something far short of chaos, but it was not what I had originally planned. That is what happens when four people use the same pantry without a shared purpose.

So, I pulled everything out yesterday and started over. After four hours of re-organizing, I can say the shelves are cleaner. But the organization, even with a fresh pair of eyes, ended up looking a lot like the old plan. That was not surprising. After all, the first plan was mine, as well.

But the pantry shuffle kicked me into gear on the filing pileup. If I left it untended for too long, I would one day be found in my bedroom having suffered a hoarder's death -- when the pile toppled over on me.

Organizing the unfiled papers also gave me an opportunity to look into what has turned into something resembling Pandora's Box. There were all manner of demons lurking in the files -- some I will undoubtedly share with you in the next few days.

The project took me another four hours. What I needed to keep, I did. What I thought could be tossed was. I just hope nothing from the first slipped into the latter.

Is there a moral for all of this busy-ness? I suppose there is. Something about a stitch in time saves a horse from drinking too much water.

But morals can wait for another day. For the moment, I can feel a bit smug with myself for putting my affairs in order.