Uncompelling Mysteries: Spousal Snooping Edition

I am supposed to be writing my dissertation, which is big and scary and thus encourages procrastination. Today I engaged in level 4 procrastination, the levels of procrastination being as follows:

• Level 1: Not even trying to do the thing that needs to be done, e.g. watching The X-Files on Netflix and knitting;
• Level 2: Doing something that is useful, but has nothing to do with the thing that needs to be done, e.g. cleaning or paying bills;
• Level 3: Doing something useless, but in physical proximity to the thing that needs to be done, e.g. using the computer to read DListed with the document dissertation.scriv open behind the browser;
• Level 4: Doing something that ostensibly will help you to get more work done in the future, but ensures you get nothing at all done now,  e.g. rearranging furniture in the office.

Accordingly, today I spent part of the afternoon moving four bookcases and a filing cabinet about the office. I found a bunch of things I had no idea were up there, including CDs I was supposed to list on Alibris, several presumably awesome books I ordered and had shipped to the house while I was overseas, and this little storage unit that I have dusted many times but never looked inside.

Today I did look inside, mostly because I'm nosy and the office was formerly my husband's dumping ground for weird items from his past, but also a little bit because I enjoy storing small items in receptacles, much like a raven or squirrel, and thought this might be something I could commandeer for my own use. Would it be empty or would it be full of things? An uncompelling mystery, indeed!

Q: What does my husband keep in that little two-drawer storage unit in the office, anyway?

A: Top drawer, shoe maintenance supplies; bottom drawer, ostrich egg, bangle carved with elephants, and South African antacid.

To be honest, the shoe polish was more of a surprise than the ostrich egg.

Intriguing.

According to I Write Like,  two of my favorite recent posts (this one and this one about my research) are similar to the writing of David Foster Wallace.  I assume this means painful to read yet worthy of a MacArthur Fellowship?  I guess they've got the first half right, anyway.

I write like
David Foster Wallace

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

Haiku are for Slackers

Door slammed on my way
Out the flat; heard the toddler
wake up.  Bad flatmate.

My flatmates have a toddler and a new baby.  I try not to set off any crying bombs in the mornings so everyone can sleep in a little.  Didn't do so well this morning.

This is what passes for a blog post at the moment, as things have been a little wacky (in a super entertaining way) with the new little person around.