@Wretched Holy crap, I feel you on the clutter pile/depression nest right now. My work room... needs... possibly an enema at this point, but we just got a new scanner and printer and there's so little space in here even when it is totally organized that this is a whole weekend effort to wrangle through the piles o'stuff.
I have OCD, but I'm a sorter. So there are times it can be stupidly soothing. (A friend of mine had this dialed up to 23, and she would drop by and sort my bin of leftover beads while we watched movies or something when she was super stressed when she lived in the area.)
I can deal with a little mess. A lot of the work I do involves 'creative mess-making'. (Patina, painting, dyework... all of these are 'creative mess-making'.)
Even if it was flawlessly organized, and by gods I will get there some day <shakes a fist at the sky>, this room... it is the ADD Artist's Lair. I was fool enough to think I could display some of the shell and polished rocks collection in here because looking at it gives me the happies, but it's gonna have to move.
I made a good call on the shelves to make a 'hutch' on top of this desk -- it's old enough that the hutch you could buy for it was no longer available, but I love this desk, the other desk in the room is the same kind, it fits perfectly in a very awkward space... OK, screw it, tangent among people who understand tangents, DAMMIT. I fell in love with this furniture set a fuckload of years back. There's a 70inch L of it in the other room, too, but it can't be moved out of there. We had to get another one for in here. It's this one and bluntly, it's fucking gorgeous even as it falls apart after a decade of abuse in this room. We got the matching... non-L desk? That lines up with it along the longer wall to extend the desktop. This was ostensibly for photos for the jewelry, but to be blunt about it, the kit doesn't fit on it, so we're still flailing over some solution for that. All the photo gear gets stored in it, however, and that's still a win.
Main desk? When it's clean in here and there's room I'll get a picture. (Y'all will LAUGH and laughs are often needed these days, right?) It is some seriously kitbash shit at this point. Prefab laminate desks don't tend to survive for 10 years very well, and... this one took some poundings. (Sometimes, literally, with jewelry hammers.)
When we needed to replace the old computer last year as a graphics machine so I could ostensibly get back to 3D (meh), we cleared everything off the desk, knowing How We Buy Computers meant a spectacular expense was coming and that I'd also need to keep the old one running as long as possible for all the entertainment stuff. (Entertainment stuff of any kind is NOT allowed to live on a computer you're going to NEED to be able to write off on your taxes. I'm typing this on the 2010 iMac right now, in fact. It never got a name that stuck; it has one now: Boomerang.)
So, uh. Two iMacs, one desk. OK, cool, this desk can handle that; it handled a tower with two monitors in the other room, this should work like a charm. Does. Ish. But once it was cleaned off, this desk was a disaster. Surface was fucked. Sagged in the middle of the L and we were about to drop expensive electronics on it. I would now need a keyboard tray... diagonal across the notch, which isn't a thing for these desks. It needed hutch space, badly.
Y'all will understand this one: the brain clicked over to 'problem solving mode' without me even realizing it.
This hit around 10pm. By 8am, I was calling my poor long-suffering mother to ask if we could run errands once she got home from church. She asked 'what errands', and... I'm trying hard to not laugh, y'all, because it was all so serious and straightforward and I truly wish I could have seen her face, I really do.
"We need to go to Home Depot to get vinyl tile (specified which, price, and aisle location), and joist supports (same), and one shelf board in honey maple (same), and whatever clip LED lights they have cheap. Then, head down to the Container Store for 5 shelf supports (and again), and 10 shelving boards (and again). Bloodbath (Bed, Bath, and Beyond) for (specific sort of container, with prices and quantities and sizes). We're going to need to swing by BestBuy for the cross-computer keyboard (AND AGAIN ON THE SPECIFICS), and the related mouse is incoming from amazon now. Do you want to stop at the diner somewhere in there for lunch?"
Pretty sure there wasn't even a breath in there until it came to the question about the diner.
I had, of course, spent the whole night being an adult (read: googling how to do things) and researching all manner of options to resurface the desk, figure out a keyboard tray, support it from below where it was sagging, build a hutch, and organize the coffee corner of it in a frenzy of tabs.
Naturally, though... it never even occurred to me to explain why I needed these things to my mother. Or to my husband when he was asked to help drag them all in from the car. And saying 'keyboard tray, hutches, resurface the desk' realllllllllllllly doesn't quite explain why there's a pile of home improvement clutter now filling the foyer.
My husband is not diagnosed with AD(H)D, but damn if he likely doesn't have it. He is the world puttering champion, and if y'all think I ramble? You have no idea. NONE. Truly. I marvel at his prowess.
There is a difference in the way it manifests with both of us, though. I attempt to streamline things wherever possible. He overcomplicates them by default. This meant that getting my husband's help was a precarious dance of...
- Instruct him which heavy things need to be moved where.
- Get out of his way while he's overcomplicatedly fussing and puttering over things while doing something productive in another part of the room.
- Wait until he's asleep to do the things he has stated an intent to turn from a 2-3 hour project into a 2-3 day project.
This resulted in my husband waking up three consecutive days in a row and staring slack-jawed at the progress I'd made, buck nekkid in the doorway, like he just might be standing buck nekkid in the doorway to someone else's house.
Again, expressions I wish I had pictures of, and yet, the reason why I don't is readily apparent in this case, I'm sure.
Technically speaking, primarily the jewelry-making supplies and the computer stuff lives in here. But. (A but bigger than my butt.) That covers... a lot. (Terrifying truth: my grandmother used this room for her craft storage. It took us months to clean it out when she passed. I have maybe 1/4 of what she had in here. My mother and I would celebrate finding previously unknown furniture beneath/behind all the boxes as we'd clear with ice cream.)
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Jewelry? I have been making jewelry to sell since I was in the single digits, age-wise. Almost 40 years. Anyone who beads things knows how much shit you can accumulate in a few months, and how much stuff you need. Now extrapolate that out to almost 40 years, and being savvy as fuck to occasional bulk-buys you qualify for as a business. Yeah. We're probably lucky this room hasn't just collapsed into the garage below. Wire? Chain? Paper? Glues? Tools? Anodizer? WAY too may shells to make into things? Etc. etc. etc.
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The 'this is just to make things with and isn't to dye' yarn fills the crawlspace closet to keep it all completely out of the way. The actual Dyening Room is downstairs, once the dining room, but no more. And yes, we call it 'The Dyening Room'. Right now, though? The Dyening Room is full of rock polishing stuff on one side that gets a bit more use.
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Computer stuff... that desk. But there's a lot that's got to shuffle around this weekend. Let's hope my husband sleeps a lot.