You know how Sherlock Holmes could tell you what you do for a living just by looking at you? I think that if I gave a picture of my bedroom floor to Sherlock Holmes he could probably deduce my social security number, there’s so much stuff on it right now. It always gets particularly messy during tech, but I’m beginning to suspect myself of perhaps just ignoring the problem in hopes that it will clean itself magically. There is no excuse for the wool and the spindle to be laying across a heap of books. Or for the bag of stuff for Goodwill to pick up to be lounging cozily with a teddy bear. There is a pile of mismatched socks lurking near the foot of the bed.

When did I stop caring that my room is a total wreck? I can barely sit down for fear of sharp pointy sticks being in the way. I found no fewer than three half-started projects this morning while I searched for my shoes. I think once things settle at work, I am going to have to have a major room-cleaning party. By which I mean I’ll have to invite someone over, have a few drinks, and tell them not to let me leave until I’ve at least gotten rid of all the orphaned socks. Really, I’m sure I never had that many socks…