I began to clear off my desk. It is now possible to see the actual desktop... in some places, at any rate. The remaining piles are a more neatly organized incarnation of the previous disaster site. Everything that is out needs to be there, at least for now. Trust me, it's true. I know it may not look like it's true, but it's true.
The pile of comics need to be framed; they won't get wrinkled sitting on top of that stack. The crayons go to Prince Elementary School; they'll melt if I put them in the garage on the Prince Shelf, and if I put them in a drawer I'll forget about them. The stack with the smiley faces is for FlapJilly's birthday, the save the date card and Paul Ryan's home address (700 St. Lawrence Ave, Janesville, WI 53545 if you want to drop him a line) are reminders of actions to be taken, and I'll admit that my excuses become a bit more feeble as you get further from my chair, but, as I said at the start, it's only a beginning.
As a reward, I'm fleeing the scene. I'm going to read a novel and go to Pilates and not think about the mockery the French are making out of DJT's love of pomp and circumstance, not think about laughing when the MSNBC talking head said that Donnie Junior "is just stupid," not think about anything but the blue skies and the (relatively) cooler temperatures and the amazing lightning storm last night, not think about how weird the word lightning looks... not think about anything at all.
Have a wonderful weekend, denizens.