More paper. I have my box of file folders set up, with labels and index cards and plastic baggies. Nearly every file folder has an index card stapled into it, to which I’m going to stick a printed label with the required information. That’s what the directions say, staple an index card to the file folder. That might have made sense decades ago when nobody had heard of self-adhesive labels. You can’t put a file folder in the typewriter, after all. Now, nobody I know uses a typewriter and I can’t offhand think of where I might find one other than the display of Herb Caen’s venerable Royal in the window of the San Francisco Chronicle. I was by to visit a friend there yesterday and I didn’t see any typewriters inside, either. Even my mother has a computer and she used to have practically a typewriter collection.

I’m not going to hand write anything if I can help it, so I’m using computer printed labels. I counted yesterday and figured I’d have sixteen sheets of labels. Then I realized I forgot one. Twenty sheets of printed labels, most of them all unique. Each type of label has to have something different and every yarn has six different labels. The swatches have another two, and then there are file folders for written materials, the binder and some for the box and lid too. I even managed to print a label to avoid drawing the two inch lines. (If you ever have cause to do such exacting typography, I have one word for you: letterspacing. See, I got something out of all those years of hanging out with The Ex-Boyfriend, Font Geek.)

Today I do have to get some spinning done, between laundry and dealing with paper. With things getting down to the end, domestic tasks are suffering. My exercise schedule is long gone, meal planning involves increasing numbers of Things That Come In Boxes and now even basic housework is falling down. That is a serious problem in a place this small.

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