In any case, I succeeded in feeding myself three square meals, washing, folding and storing the great bulk of the laundry (the existence of a great bulk due in part to my unscheduled weekend at elflet's -- laundry didn't get done last week), making more fish chowder (yum!), some miscellaneous chores like changing sheets and sweeping the kitchen floor, grooming Dora, Arnold and Ned, and throwing out another foot or two of unneeded paper. I can actually envision, in my lifetime, not having cardboard boxes full of mostly useless and dusty stuff lurking in the office. Or in my bedroom closet.
I didn't get the devilled eggs made, or the low-carb blueberry muffins (sorry, tersa), and I didn't get the bathroom cleaned, but hey, those can wait, and I was on time for circle for a change.
One of the things I threw out was a full notebook, but first I rescued a single sheet of paper from it. It contains a list of questions and answers about my disorganization, and how I felt about it. Reading it made me realize just how far I have come in learning how to maintain my physical space in a way that feeds good things to my internal space. (Archaeological evidence dates this sheet to winter/spring 1999, when I was still living with Erik and it was getting to the point of hallways and doorways being so jammed with stuff that I'd run into it or trip over it, which I hate. It makes me feel bigger and clumsier than I actually am.) When I get back to the house, perhaps I'll reproduce the Q&A here for the enlightement of those few benighted souls who imagine I was born organized -- hah! -- and the amusement of the rest of you.