Tuesday Slice: My personal dig site

My desk is covered in a twelve-inch high avalanche of paper.  It's really that high; I just took out my measuring tape and assessed the situation.  The first thought that came to mind as I surveyed this paper mountainscape is that an anthropologist could figure out my entire living situation using my desk as a dig site.  Just scanning the bits that are sticking out, here's what I spy in the dim light of my study:

• a printed Slice that I meant to put in my yearly planner
• receipts I meant to put in my check register
• notes from an online webinar, written on a sticky pad
• coupons, and online codes written on scraps of paper
• medical paperwork (it's important, so it's on top!)
• pretty stationery
• bills that have been paid, and bills waiting to be paid
• a catalog for high school class rings
• recipes
• a punch card for a painting workshop
• a postcard from my car dealer
• an owl diecut notepad
• a high school football game ticket
• Christmas cards
• books
• card reminders for appointments already kept
• my checkbook and register
• a current PTA membership card

That's just the paper bits.  There are non-paper paraphernalia adding to the peaks and valleys:

• my phone, charging
• various pens
• a bag of goodies from my recent 5K
• three owl candleholders (without burning candles, for obvious reasons)
• our digital camera, waiting for a download of photos
• a cute keyring bracelet of ceramic beads from my neighbor
• small boxes containing owl figurines 
• an empty Japanese beer bottle--with an owl on it
• phone cables and earbuds
• reading glasses
• patches that need to be sewn onto my son's letter jacket

Some of this mess needs to be filed; some clearly needs to be tossed or shredded; and there are bits I'd like to hold on to for memory's sake. I clearly need either intervention, or an entire uninterrupted weekend to sort this out.  Since neither is happening soon, I'll have to settle for an hour of tossing and re-piling this evening.  Guests are coming, and I don't need the avalanche sliding into the front hallway.