There's one in the corner of my mind's room. It's a pile of papers, magazines, knick-knacks, but mostly papers. It's been there for a while now, and it isn't accumulating dust. Some of them get lost sometimes, and I usually don't even realize it. I know it's a huge mess, and it's difficult to sort it; it's gotten too complicated. Quite often I find a page peeking out of the stack, and it attracts my attention. I try to pull it out, but it's all hopelessly interconnected. Most of the pages seem to be stuck to each other, and I can never manage to get one cleanly out of the pile.
There is only so much room in there, and logically, I ought to throw out unwanted things. But I don't, at least not consciously. But the paper monster does it for me. All those pages I can't find? I know for sure it's the monster at work. Once in a while I manage to outwit it though, and I stumble upon it's cache. Not too often, but occasionally.
It's an interesting activity, scavenging through the pile, for the finds are most interesting. I know I ought to indulge more frequently, even if it is just to wage a perhaps-losing battle with the paper monster.
There is only so much room in there, and logically, I ought to throw out unwanted things. But I don't, at least not consciously. But the paper monster does it for me. All those pages I can't find? I know for sure it's the monster at work. Once in a while I manage to outwit it though, and I stumble upon it's cache. Not too often, but occasionally.
It's an interesting activity, scavenging through the pile, for the finds are most interesting. I know I ought to indulge more frequently, even if it is just to wage a perhaps-losing battle with the paper monster.