archeology

Today I am an office archeologist. We're moving. Out, and then in. It's not an exciting reason: asbestos. Well, asbestos and new carpet. We were angling for our bare walls to be painted, perhaps the calming pale purple of the first floor, or the warm tan of the stairwells. But we were denied--it's just our floor, our asbestos-y floor, that warrants attention.

So, we're moving. We will be like stray dogs for a week and some change, our bare-bones selves begging for scraps of desk space somewhere in the technical services cubicle farm until we are allowed back home.

I always sort of relish this kind of chaos. It will be a pain in the balls. But it will not be tedious.

Today and tomorrow we are razing this place. Drawers that hadn't been cleaned in decades, boxes of paperwork from the 80s. I am feeling like an explorer, neck deep in paperclips and dried out rubberbands. I am recycling old papers with vigor. And feeling a stab of regret that I am the last person who will stumble upon these old billing forms from 1995 and think 'oh, so THAT'S how it used to be done!' I'm getting rid of our evidence.

We have an old screwdriver-in-a-screwdriver-in-a-screwdriver-in-a-hammer in the bottom drawer of one cabinet. I've used it more times than you'd think, to tighten pencil sharpeners and unbend cart wheels and once to fix a loosening pair of glasses. I wrapped it in a dust cloth and tucked it away in a box. I hope this all gets back to us.

Today I tossed out the tiny stubs of 17 pencils, and I feel like I will still find more.