Ray has long been the packrat in our relationship. He keeps movie stubs, receipts, and old term papers, along with his mile high stack of D&D paraphernalia...and don't get me started about the 11 boxes of comic books. Yes, ELEVEN. Why a person needs to keep all of this is beyond me.
And I harass him about it. Not as much as I did in the past, granted, but I do. I've reached a point of mostly quiet acceptance of it. I just close the office door.
The bone of contention about this office is that it is our third bedroom. Which was fine when we had one child, but is not so fine these days.
Ray has promised to clean his office. Promised. On multiple occasions. Regularly. And he does have a stab at it here and there. Sometimes he reclaims some floor space and actually manages to clear the spare chair off, so I can sit in there and watch television with him (downloaded, of course...his new monitor is the only reasonably sized HD capable screen in our house).
Today I decided to try to take a stab at the filing cabinet in there. I went from the bottom up. Drawer nearest to the bottom is mostly filled with computer gear. And neatly so. This was one of his last cracks at the office. Looks good. Second from the bottom has about 3 sheets of paper and when I look at them, I am reminded that this drawer is supposed to be for Ray's papers (which are indeed in piles throughout the room...let's move on). Third drawer is mine.
Okay, I have not done more than stuff a few things in there since sometime after Xander was born in 2005. My two excuses: it's hard to get time to get to it and a lot of times it is physically hard to even get into it. So tonight I went through it. Why oh why do I need 3 years worth of timesheets from my job from 1999-2002? And a multitude of things from my last official job? Why? I went through it and cleaned it all out. Shredded so much paper that I thought I was going to break the shredder (I did get it jammed; note to self: only shred one year of timesheets at a time).
Apparently Ray is rubbing off on me.