Trapdoor Spider has plans for the study

You know trapdoor spiders? That's how my depression acts these days. There will be the brushy, twiggy landscape of my normal life and then along comes the vibration of stress, and for a tense little while, nothing happens. And then BAM! The Crazy jumps out and starts devouring things.

This time, the Crazy looks like this: me stomping from room to room in my house and corner to corner in my office, hating all the little piles of things that don't have a place in which to fit neatly. In my house, it's the study. I hate sharing a study with Pants.

There, I said it.

He's a wonderful man, and he's good and kind to me, and in return I hate sharing a workspace with him because as mechanically tick-tock perfect and organized as he is mentally, he is just as chaotic and clutter-prone in his physical space. Used tissues, scraps of labels, outdated and completely useless aviation maps-- it's all part of the geologically stratified layers of a crap mountain that I can't seem to conquer. And he freaks out when I get near it.

Initially, we shared my college desk, a huge behemoth of a thing with two long wings that fits into a corner and comes with a rolling file cabinet. But the sprawling PC (extraordinary discipline being exercised here not to leap off on the PC hate tangent) and Pants's little foothills of cherished odds and ends rapidly co-opted the whole desk. And the study closet. And the perimeters of the room. And under the desk.

So as he gets ready to take off tomorrow for three weeks to do incredibly dangerous things, and learn whether or not we'll have to move again, and get posted to a fleet which will take him away for half a year to fight a war to which I am fundamentally opposed, my focus is the fucking study. That much I can change.