Charge It To Admin

For the past two days I have been immersed in tasks that (if I were getting paid) should be charged to the "admin" account. They're the types of things that nobody really enjoys, but must be addressed every once in a while. I sent out a couple of emails regarding job opportunities and tinkered with my resume. I also checked out a few temp agencies to visit in the near-ish future. Since we moved into the apartment I have also been avoiding the filing cabinet like the plague, not knowing what sort of beastly things were lurking. Today, I opened the top drawer to find a jumbo hanging file that I had never seen before. I exclaimed "Dear God, what is this?! And why did it move with us?!" Jesse mysteriously disappeared into the bedroom.

While preparing for the move from D.C., I discovered that I had married a petty hoarder. I say petty because he isn't one of those egregious types that saves bubble gum wrappers and old cereal boxes (and sometimes he hoards things that turn out to be really sweet). However, today I opened that jumbo mystery file and found that it contained over six years of paper bank statements - complete with the little inserts that come in the envelope. As a historian, it was fascinating to document the evolution of Bank of America's privacy and disclosure statements from a two-page pamphlet to a small book over the years. As a pragmatist, I couldn't understand what would possess a person to open an envelope, unfold their bank statement, and file away the entire contents (very neatly) in their active vertical files. Needless to say, the paper shredder got a workout this afternoon.

Yesterday, I also started sanding my chair (considered an admin task in my book). Almost immediately, I remembered how much I dislike sanding - not because it's hard work, but because I really could do without the feel and sound of sandpaper scraping wood. I also don't really care for the feeling of sawdust on my fingers. It's akin to the sensation you get in your teeth and head when you hear nails on a chalkboard (only much less severe). My friend Kyle hates the feeling of fleece (or anything soft and velvety). I think he's probably one of the only people who could truly understand what I mean. It doesn't prevent me from sanding, but I wash my hands a lot. With that said, I do think the results are worth the horror because I have been able to rub out nearly every scratch and blemish. It's hard to tell from the photos, but the vertical post has been sanded, not the arm.

I think I'll end my day of "admin" tasks by taking another trip to the grocery store to buy some of the food staples that we have forgotten. I have had the urge to bake cookies for the past few days in our giant new oven, but lack things like brown sugar, and chocolate, and baking powder. Shopping for grocery staples isn't really fun, but I'll be happy to have a fully stocked pantry again!