The filing cabinet

Finally got the urge today to sort out my home filing system. Papers have been piling up on the piano, the dining table, the kitchen table, the fridge, the washing machine, the notice board, under the bed and around the computer for a while now and it was time to do something about it. I ventured into the filing cabinet, where for the last 6 months I've just been stuffing everything in the front, emptied it all out on the floor, and along with all the other crap from around the house, sat for hours putting everything into piles. The reason it took so long was because I got lost in reading things. I read every one of my son's school reports from year 1 to year 8. The combination of feeling like my life was in order (with everything in the right compartment ) and reading other people say nice things about my son gave me such a warm feeling that I almost forgot about my bout of PMT. Even the bits about him talking too much and being easily distracted make me smile because I know he gets that from me!

I do talk a lot, especially when I shouldn't. I always have. In the past though I've told people too much about myself and then feel like I've let too much out, that maybe I should have kept to myself. Today at work I let slip a story about when my ex told everyone we went to Vancouver for our honeymoon, except that he didn't tell me about it so I didn't know till I read the messages in the wedding cards wishing us a great time! I told them how I was too embarrassed to admit my ex was a compulsive liar so had to go along with it. I then got really embarrassed about telling this story at work. My normal reaction to embarrassment is to keep talking.... Did he lie about a lot? they asked. Er... where to start? If I tell them a few more stories they may forget about the Vancouver one. But every one in my head sounded much much worse. Why did I start this? - There is no easy way to back track here. Yeah, quite a lot I mumbled nervously. Why am a talking like a div? I don't want people to know this stuff!

Finally someone talked about their own friend who had made up that someone close had committed suicide and they had to ring him to check he was alive (which he was). I was tempted here to share a very similar story but remembered that she didn't marry her compulsive liar friend so its not the same. You'd think after over 10 years I wouldn't be bothered about telling stories of the ex but I still feel as stupid for putting up with it now as I did then....

I'm an open person and I like to tell a good story but maybe I need to learn to file some of my shit into the right compartment and then shut the door!