We've been semi-madly cleaning house. It would be the spring cleaning if it was actually spring instead of a freakishly warm November. Anyway, it's the once or twice a year big clean. We have a friend coming into town on Wednesday to defend his dissertation, then another friend coming into town next week to give a talk, so it seemed like a good time to pretend we actually care about appearances. We finished the painting in our kitchen--mostly stuff the flaky contractor neglected to do--and Catherine scrubbed the kitchen floor. (Before anyone sends me e-mail about what a lousy house husband I am, I'd like to point out that painting the wall really freaked out my AC joint and there was no way I could clean the floor. But I would of.)
My task today was to tidy up the office. And I've done a reasonably good job, given that my deadline doesn't actually pass until tomorrow night some time. I even picked up my homework (fucking statics) off the stamp table. Yeah, but next time I do that particular task, I'm going to make sure the shade is pulled or that I'm fully dressed. Hopefully it was just the birds at the feeder that got a good look at me in my baggy shorts and bra, stuffing books and papers into my briefcase. I'm pretty sure the kids across the street don't need to see the old lady with no shirt doing housework.