The Pixieford Files

While the cleaning at home is nearly done, I've also been cleaning at work.  Every project I was supposed to be working on, or could be working on right now, is on hold.  I mentioned this to Howie last week.

"Clean your desk," came his reply.  Beg pardon?  "Clean your desk," he repeated.  "Clean everything, archive everything that needs to go into storage, file everything, get rid of it all; make a clean slate ready for new work.  Get ready for the next project."

Now, upon hearing that, the wintermint freshness of panic seeped into my colon.  'Clean your desk' has a creepy connotation of late, what with all the layoffs.  However, Howie was serious.  He cleared me to bill cleaning my desk to a general overhead billing code, so I went forth to get my clean on.  What does it say about the state of my desk that I literally spent all of Thursday and Friday cleaning it, and still have another 2-3 hours to do on it?  It says that I'm a messy trollop, that's what.  But my desk is pretty damn clean.

Jann saw me archiving files and product samples for MHRC, and she mentioned she had some files to go through to include in those archive boxes.  I offered to do the sorting for her, and she gladly took me up on it.  Her desk was at least as scary as mine, if not worse.  Hence, I've been helping her for the past day and a half, sorting and filing papers for a variety of projects.  On the one hand, it feels weird to just file and clean and wipe counters down with Clorox Clean-Up cloths.  On the other hand, I haven't felt this productive in a long-ass time.

So, I'm cleaning at work, and I'm cleaning at home.  Guy and I did a real scrub job on the place last night, and Guy even took some newspaper to all the mirrors and glass tabletops in our modern-ass house.  The place is glowing.  Mies would be proud.  The house is ready for Kitty and then Guy's mouth-breathing friends to visit, so I'm going to quit cleaning.  I'm done.  At home, anyway.