Unfortunately, I find it difficult to write in a clean, uncluttered house. It makes me feel restless. I pace. I stare vaguely at the walls. I sit down to write, and my head is as empty and bare as the dining-room table. My clutter used to whisper colorful, creative ideas from its staggering heaps and piles. Now it lies inert in files and drawers and in neat rows on dusted shelves.
The dogs (bless their spoiled little hearts) try to help by dragging their toys out of baskets and strewing them around, but I am listless and uninspired. Titus tried to distribute my shoes evenly from one end of the house to the other, but even my shoes have been put away where he can't get them, so he only had one pair of slippers to work with, and the house was so clean, I found them right away without even having to stomp up and down demanding that Titus "find me the shoe that looks just like this one," which causes him to prance and strut and wag his head and smirk, but somehow never results in him bringing me the missing shoe.
What I really need, see, is some kind of a huge creative project that I couldn't possibly get done in a day and that requires me to spread piles of brightly-colored craft supplies all over the house. Then I could leave it all out, half finished, because there's really no point in putting it away when I will just have to get it all out again, and bingo! I'll be able to write again.