I remember many of my dreams.  I woke up this morning with this one:
 

               I’d just been appointed Chief Commissioner of something, and the day was administration-change day.  Chaos reigned.  I was to live in the same place that I was to work.  My office/living quarters were a huge studio apartment of probably 2000sq ft.  But it was cluttered, messy, disorganized.  The ancient built-in stove and kitchenette counters came up to chest height, both unusable.  For a room with 20ft ceilings, hardly any of the vertical space was used.  The person who used to live/work in this space hadn’t gotten anything worthwhile done.  I would bring pride, organization, and an air of opportunity back to the office.  I would do things, but I needed a clear place to work and live for that to be possible.  I couldn’t work or live in a place this trashed.
 

                Workmen and movers, maintenance men and the “change-over” director were everywhere at once.  As I dodged them and planned overhauls of the space, I came across a series of floor-to-ceiling metal shelves in milk crate increments housing LP albums of all sorts.  Thousands of albums.  Much of the vinyl was separated from its sleeve and cover, and the shelves were just as disorganized as the room.  Despite the mess, I got excited because the music was to stay where it was: it belonged to the office as if it was part of a private state-held collection.  Some of the albums were rare treasures, but there was no ladder to get to the albums on the upper shelves.
 

                I ignored the turmoil happening around me and gazed wonderingly at the trove before me.  It should be catalogued, organized, and displayed better.  The workman could build me fine wood shelves when they built my floor-to-ceiling bookshelves (complete with sliding ladders), and renovated the rest of the apartment/office.  Then I could find anything and everything I wanted, and explore (and enjoy) the treasures.
 

Wait.  Who would do the organizing and cataloguing?  My new job would keep me too busy to take on such a project, and the clutter of the music collection would drive me nuts if allowed to remain as-is.  Sad, I considered donating the whole collection to the local library, but knew it would be auctioned off piece by piece, or sold at a surplus sale.  I didn’t want to donate it, but I couldn’t see another option because other commitments would take precedence, and this task would take too much time and effort to complete in a timely manner.  It had to go, much to my regret. 
 

I must have voiced my regret because someone piped up that the collection had already been catalogued, at some point; there was a complete list on the bottom shelf on my right.  Joy and hope flooded through me.  After the new shelves were built, I could get an intern or two to organize the albums on the new shelves, check them against the list, and label the shelves.
 

The dream unraveled soon after this point, and I woke up.  As I lay there in the darkness, I wondered what it could mean.  I searched for insight, and found it.
 

My mind and space has been cluttered with so much stuff in the past, that my writing (work) has suffered greatly, and my ability to focus on the important things hasn’t fared much better.  By clearing away the clutter, I can find gems.  By organizing my space, I can work and accomplish great things because I won’t be overwhelmed by trivial ‘kipple.’  By having my treasures (ideas) adequately organized and tastefully displayed, I can access the treasure when I need it or want it without fear of it being MIA.