It's been calling my name for some time now, but today the call of the unfiled papers rose to a deafening roar and I succumbed. You know those tasks you put off for months, dreading the very thought of them, and when at last you buckle down and do them, they turn out not so bad?
This wasn't one of them. Half an hour I spent at it (which is an enormous chunk of time when you have two small children busily rearranging the attic while you try to work at it) and only succeeding in strewing vaguely-sorted piles of paper everywhere, pinching a few fingers in the drawers, and coming to the conclusion that, although we have every other receipt from Lands End for the last three years, we don't have the one receipt I need to find.
It will take me weeks to get the mess put away, and I don't know where next to look for the receipt. And I didn't get far enough to feel any noble glow of accomplishment. (Even when I finish, the glow will be miniscule, because even an overflowing pile of paper is only a very small amount of cubic space cleaned.)
I hate filing.