I dislike mail.

Actually, it's less a dislike, and more a kind of resentment.

And the resentment doesn't come from the stereotypical "all we ever get is bills" angle, and it doesn't mean that I don't enjoy receiving correspondance from friends and family who are far afield. Quite the contrary; I love getting notes and cards from people.

No, the automatic narrowing of eyes and curling of lips that inevitably cross my face when I spy the pile of letters, flyers, magazines, etc. on our front porch comes from a more complicated place. It comes from the place deep inside me that is engaged in what I expect will be a life-long battle against piles of paper in my house.

Paper is the number-one enemy in my fight against clutter. And the mail is the worst offender.

We've introduced a couple of methods by which we can control the mail-related paper coming in to the house, most notably by putting a recycling bin on the front porch so that most flyers, junk mail etc. don't come in to the house at all, but go straight into the can. In addition, I am determined to get the upper hand on the stacks of paper that have accumulated in our office since we moved in, so am trying to dedicate some time every evening to sorting and throwing things out. I have found that the problem is not just about quantity; it's also about order. We haven't yet found a good system for handling incoming paper and getting it put in its rightful place as soon as possible, so bits and pieces of paper lie around on the coffee table, for example, untended, which makes me nuts.

So you've been warned, paper. It's ON. And I will take. you. down.