The closet of doom

So, we all have them... the junk drawer, the junk closet, the junk box in the garage... some place that has become the place for things that have no place. It is the homeless shelter for things in your life like playing cards, kids balloons that have yet to be inflated, invitations to kids parties that passed months ago but still the invitation remains. Cables to electronics you probably don't even own anymore. It's where you ultimately fine 12 pairs of scissors though you haven't been able to find a single pair for 2 months.

The drawer has yet to fall into my perview of "things I must deal with at some point." It is quietly keeping it's peace, and I will respectfully continue to ignore it for the next few months to years... but the junk closet has been in my sights for longer than I care to say. This house does not have much for storage space, so you would think I would embrace the Organizer Store infatuation gene from my mother and whip things into shape. I get inspired ~twice a year, and I always feel that this inspiration must await a week off from work so I can devote the proper attention. It takes great mental preparation, great intestinal fortitude and great planning. It requires measuring of the recieving space and the prospective drawers/cabinets/cubbies to be purchased, multiple trips to the store to contemplate the possibilities, returns and second tries...

For months (ok, years) Omar and I have said "we have to get the hall closet cleaned out..." Yet it has not magically cleaned itself. It's the closet of lotion, nail polish remover (for the woman who never wears nail polish), contact solution, endless barrettes, travel size everything, qtips, bars of soap, bandaids, and gauze... all thrown onto two shelves with slim-to-no regard for ever hoping to find them again in a moment of need.

So today, while at Target for completely other reasons, the closet popped into my head, and in a moment of inspration, I decided today was the day. No vacation pending. With my trusty label maker in hand (mom's gene again) and 12 stackable plastic bins (that were not pre-measured, mind you... I went completely crazy and just winged it), I poured all of the closet-of-doom onto the floor in the hallway and started sorting with wild abandon.

The entire project took me 45 minutes.

45 MINUTES!?!>?! I put something off for 4 years for it to ultimately require 45 minutes? I work myself into a froth for something that was so completely doable I could do it weekly and not miss the time? What other miraculous things could I be doing in 45 minutes? The possibilities seem limitless.... or I could take a nap...