duck-shaped pain

I was all set to have a nice time this weekend, and then I got it into my mind that I needed to take on A Project. I started on Friday night, and I'm still not done. I haven't showered, I'm still wearing the same clothes as I was when I started, and I've only left the house once in about 60 hours, to go buy a table.

I once had an office. A room just adjacent to my bedroom where I could work in, read in, or just hang out and listen to the stereo in. That all changed when I broke my leg. I wasn't using the room, so it sort of became a temporary storage room and boxes began to pile up here and there. When I brought all my extraneous items back from Oregon last summer, the only place to put all of it was in this room.

Since stuff attracts more stuff, it just started to pile up after that. Extra books? Put them in the room. Need some place to hide things you don't want others to see? Nobody's going to dare go in there.

Before long, it was impossible to even get in the door. Hazards abounded -- things on the floor, other items precariously stacked on top of other items, always threatening to topple over and bury anyone who came near.

Finally, I got sick of it. I wanted my room back, so I could write in it and have my computer there and unify the many collections of books and records and CDs stashed all about the house.

Which is where the trouble began.

Friday night and yesterday were devoted entirely to seeing what, exactly, was in the room. Honestly, I had no idea. I knew it contained lots of sealed-up boxes and bags of unknown origin, and a chair or two, but that's about it. Someone could have been breaking into the house during the night and leaving things there, and I would have no idea.

There were some things in there I was happy to see, things which I thought had been long lost but now were found: My mother-of-pearl-covered cigarette case (not like I smoke anymore, but it still looks really cool). A pair of pince-nez glasses (which I can actually use as reading glasses, except that they hurt after about 30 seconds of being perched on my nose). My silver fountain pen (I had to soak the nib for a bit, but now it works ok). [1] My long-lost Cheese Issue of Might (still on one piece, which is remarkable considering the number of times it's been lent out). The 1939 Moundbuilder from Southern Missouri State Teachers College (unknown school, nifty yearbook design). A pencil box inscribed with the words "In The Country of Insects." Some Sergio Mendes records. A drawing of a robot toaster a guy named J. drew from me. An enormous inflatable pencil. Many zines. Many comics. A leopard-print fake-fur peacoat (kind of tight around the arms, unfortunately).

At the same time, I also found some mystery items, things whose origin I cannot explain. Why, for example, do I have a copy of the 1973 Reno--Sparks, Nevada city directory? It was in a bag, which suggests that I must have found it somewhere or even bought it. But even thinking until my ears hurt doesn't make me recall obtaining it anywhere. I have a lot of odd printed matter, but this thing isn't even ironically interesting.

I also have about 300 unwanted magazines. The wanted ones are now safely sorted and stored in special boxes, but the sheer number of the ones left over sort of boggles me. I don't really buy magazines, and I only subscribe to a few, so how so many of them ended up in this one room is something to think about. I've come to the conclusion that taking an armload of magazines from the library exchange rack every time I visit and then never bringing any in to replace them has taken its toll. Back to the library with them all, or else I'll have to open up my office as a roadside attraction. Come visit the Periodical Kingdom, everyone. [2]

A whole box of identical TV repair pamphlets? Incomprehensible. One might be understandable. Two would be good -- one to keep, one to send out at random to an unwitting target. But a whole box is a bit much. Sure, they're colorful. Sure, the people in the picture on the cover look suspiciously happy to be repairing TVs. But when you lay all the pamphlets out in a row, the people look less happy and more homicidal. They need to go before they scare me any further.

The t-shirt emblazoned "Yuma Snake Handler's Club" would be cool, if it weren't so tiny. Don't remember buying that one.

So now I have a desk. It will soon be joined by another desk to make one big L-shaped desk. Then there will be plants and chairs and coasters and pencils moved in to join it. The books will be all gathered together and reunified on the shelves. The stereo and the records will be in the same room for once. And I'll finally have a place where I can get things done. Will I?

No.

[1] Those items -- the smoke case, the glasses and the pen -- are total Implements of Pretension, I know. I acquired them all at approximately the same time, around ten years ago, on the cusp between high school and college. I was really into looking like a genteel turn-of-the-century author at the time, even though I didn't write much of anything. Now I write plenty, but I look like a normal person. Still, the Implements of Pretension are kind of neat to have scattered around.

[2] I won't even go in to the number of catalogs.

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