Confessional

I have a confession to make.

I love Staples. I love office supplies. I think my adorations of those things printable, inkable, writeonable and organizable is bordering on obsession, nay, fetish.

Jessica informed me at about noon that she has a project due tomorrow, which is all fine and good. Thing is, she needed to print some things out in color. We were out of color ink. And our printer is such that it won't let you print at all in black/greyscale if the color cartridge is Gobi dry. So I had to run to Staples today.

All I needed was a color cartridge for our printer and some quality paper. I spent a half hour running up and down the aisles, touching, thinking, fantasizing, mentally organizing.

For someone as abysmally disorganized as I am, this fetish is interesting. It's not a dangerous or unheard of fetish like that of Troy McClure on the Simpsons (something involving... fish?) So why do I not indulge in my desires and buy that shelving unit with the organizational cubbies? Those plastic file thingies which can be loaded up with all my bills, in paid and due order?

Because this fetish is expensive. Fancy pens, gorgeous papers, placemats with the solar system printed out... these things can certainly help my life, but they will destroy my bank account.

So sadly I buy just a couple knicknacks and escape from the confines of the office super store. And return home to help my daughter finish her project.

But I'm dreaming of portfolio presentation folders, and it's getting my pulse up there. Yeah.

Speaking of elevated pulse, we're currently in the throes of watching football with our new Direct TV NFL Sunday Smorgasbord ticket. I need to get back to that.