Krissy did one of her occasional clean-ups of my office environment and then demanded I take a photo as verification that, indeed, the room was spotless. So here you are: My spotless office. One part of me feels ashamed that my entropic tendencies drive my wife into a cleaning frenzy, but another part of me is always grateful when she does, because the simple truth of the matter is that I find it so much easier to focus when I am not surrounded by ceiling-high piles of books and paper which threaten to collapse onto me, pinning me and leaving me helpless while the cats feed off my bones (because you know they would).
Essayed here is the desk; what you don’t see is the bookshelf to the left, which was also reorganized, in particular to give me an ego shelf, like so:
These are all the books I’ve written or contributed to. The goal before the time I die in a horrible dolphin incident is to write enough books that the shelf can only hold single copies of each book. By which time, of course, bound copies of books will be laughably quaint collector’s items. But that’s not the point. And anyway, obviously, I plan on collecting.
So there it is. Allow me to take a moment of public recognition of my wife for making my working space far less likely to erupt into spontaneous paper fire. She rocks.