Seven Boxes of Crap

My office at work contains 7 boxes full of stuff I considered important enough to save and pack when I moved offices last year. My husband got tired of them in our attic so he helped me carry them down the rickety attic staircase 6 months ago. They’ve collected dust in our garage ever since. He evicted them from the garage this week by packing them in my car for me. That effectively forced my hand because I either had to carry them into work or drive around with them in my car until I do.

Not that I couldn’t drive around with them for awhile. Because I could. I’ve been known to lay down on a queen sized bed watching television while the whole other side of the bed is covered in laundry. My husband would like it noted that I’ve also been known to shove stuff over to make enough room in order to be able to lay down. I would like it noted that my husband brings laundry upstairs to fold at 11:00 p.m when I’m ready to suck down some low cal pudding and watch crappy reality television.

You.  Yes, you.  You are a lazy wench.  Now excuse me while I suck down this milkshake.  In front of you.  With whipped cream of top.  

My inner hoarder thinks I should now unpack the 7 boxes taking up space in my office and reminded me of the other day when I forgot my water cup at home and was wandering around the office begging people for a red solo cup so I could get a drink of water. My boxes include 2 random cups I normally keep in my desk drawer as a safety net for just that reason. Grown adults should not be wandering aimlessly begging other grown adults for red solo cups.

My inner clutter-phobe is trying to remind me that those boxes have gathered dust for a year and half and I never needed any of it during that time so why even unpack. Chuck it. Chuck it all.

My inner procrastinator is in favor of just racking and stacking the boxes in a corner and figure out later what to do with them. She’s a very convincing wench. She might win. Plus, I’m supposed to be moving offices again in like 3 months and I’ll just have to pack again anyway so what’s the point, really?

Except there’s nowhere to actually hide the boxes and I’ll actually have to see them until then. My inner Do It Yourself-er then contemplates ways to make them less noticeable and or just less hideous to look at. And then I’m officially in left field. That was 10 minutes of my life I’ll never get back spent trying to decide what to do with 7 boxes of work crap I barely care about.

There have got to be better things I could be doing with my Friday. I’m just going to shove that crap in a drawer like everyone else does and call it a week. 

Boom.  Decision made.