I have a theory about the “paper buildup” in my office. I stack a tiny pile of papers beside my keyboard and those papers create spores. The draft from the air conditioner picks up those spores, wafts them aloft, and deposits them on other flat surfaces where new piles of papers grow. That’s the only way I can explain why my office is such a mess.

My workspace is a tiny cubbyhole connected to my bedroom with the master bathroom in between. Two of the room’s walls are brick, the other two are solid window. The vaulted ceiling has a skylight, so it’s a cheerful place to sit and work—if you can find a place to sit. The only area I can put my huge corner desk is snuggled into the corner of the brick walls, with the windows at my back. Every other available wall space is covered with bookshelves. I’d love to re-arrange the furniture so I could see out the window while I work, but that isn’t going to happen.

The clutter I have created in the last few weeks of writing has become overwhelming. I woke up this morning full of energy and decided that today was the day to get off of my rear and get my act in gear. I simply had to clean my office, because there could be an 800 pound gorilla buried under those papers and I wouldn’t know it. And, my husband was tired of me screaming like a banshee any time I couldn’t find whatever book or paper I needed at that moment.

As I began clearing off the desk, I found a book that had been buried under the paper spores: it was a book about Feng Shui. Because I have the attention span of a gnat, I stopped cleaning and started reading.

I was told by the illustrious author that by using the principles of feng shui in my office, I could re-arrange the interplay of Yin and Yang to ensure a harmonious working environment AND increase my productivity and monetary rewards. “Perfect,” I thought to myself. “That’s what I need to make my life complete.” I don’t understand what the heck Yin and Yang are, but that sounded marvelous to me. I want my career to be a success, and perhaps feng shui would be the answer. Maybe it meant I wouldn’t have to actually work and could sit on my rear and eat bon bons. This feng shui could be as wonderful as winning the Texas Lottery! After all, feng shui worked for me once before:

I was newly single living in the first home I had bought on my own. I had “plexed” as they called it in the neighborhood: bought half of a duplex. It was a two-story house with hardwood floors throughout the downstairs, vaulted ceilings and Berber carpet upstairs. Downstairs was the kitchen/dining room, living room, one bedroom and a bathroom. Upstairs were two more bedrooms and a bathroom. It was light and airy. My three cats and I loved that house, even though it was tiny. It sounds large, but it wasn’t a big house, which made arranging my furniture a little difficult. I just had to put things where ever they would fit.

That spring, my Momma and her toy Chihuahua came for a week long visit. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved having my Momma come see me. But you must understand the dynamics of having two grown women sleeping under the same roof. Just as there is only one alpha female in a pack of wolves—there can be only one alpha female in a house. Both Momma and I thought we were the alpha female. Because she taught me manners when I was young, and because I’m a chicken, I had to defer to her. She got to be “it.”

This meant that I would surrender my downstairs bedroom to her and the pooch. She had arthritis and walked with a cane, so it really wouldn’t have been fair for me to send her to the guest bedroom upstairs. I didn’t resent the move, if she and the Chihuahua didn’t mind sharing the bed with three cats. I didn’t figure they would be willing to give up their favorite “curling up” spots.

Now, just as we got Momma all settled in, my telephone rang. It was my friend Elida calling me to tell me important news. She sounded frantic.

“Shelly,” she said. “You have to move your bed right now!”

“My Momma is visiting,” I said. “I can’t go re-arranging furniture while she’s here. Why do I have to move it, anyway?”

“I’ve been reading a book about feng shooey,” she said.

“It’s pronounced (fŭng‘ shwā‘)” I replied.

“Whatever! But, you have to do it today,” said Elida.

When I tried to protest again, she shushed me with the question, “Do you ever want to have a man in your bed again?”

“Ummm, Elida,” I muttered. “My Momma is here in the room with me, and I can’t talk about this right now.”

“Just move your bed!” she cried. “My book about feng shooey says that with a headboard against the wall that has a bathroom on the other side of it, all of your relationships will be flushed down the toilet! Important furniture should never be against the wall of the bathroom if you want success. If you don’t move your bed away from that wall you will never date again!”

After I got off the telephone, I snickered as I told Momma what Elida had said about “feng shooey.” I thought she would crack up about it right along with me. But, Momma didn’t laugh. She just sat there with her pondering expression on her face.

After a few moments of silence, Momma slowly dragged herself out of the chair and grabbed her cane. “Let’s go move your bed,” she said.

“Mommaaaa,” I moaned. “I can move it after you go home. There’s no point in moving it now, because YOU are sleeping in it for the next week.”

She raised her eyebrows and gave me a withering look. “I’m old,” said Momma. “But, I’m not dead, yet.”

Oh, like I really wanted to hear that from my Momma! But, we moved the bed, my crippled Momma and me. She didn’t get much benefit from it. But, God’s Truth, within two weeks I met the man who has become my beloved husband.

Recalling that story, I was humming as I prepared lunch for my husband. When he stepped in the door, I happily explained how I would use the ancient principles of feng shui to ensure my business success. Halfway through the explanation, a realization dawned on me and I squealed like a stuck pig.

“Oh, crap!” I shouted. “I can’t move that desk—and there’s a toilet on the other side of the wall!”

So there you have it, people. I don’t know why I’m even bothering to write today. I don’t stand a chance of success. I guess this means there is no point in cleaning my office either. I knew I could find a good excuse not to do it if I thought about it long enough.