On Monday, I took everything off my desk and cleaned it. Yesterday, I did two loads of laundry. Today, I tackle the coffee table.

Well, not literally. That would hurt.

The coffee table has become an insane repository for all things paper. School books and notebooks, folders, catalogs, bills, physical therapy homework sheets, bank statements, articles, wire clippings, masking tape, note pads, and a videotape sent by my mother which I have yet to open, much less view (sorry, Mom, I've just been so busy). This is a situation up with which I will not put.

Today is Operation Coffee Table day. The picture above is a "before," so we can all join in the satisfaction of the neat, shining table in the "after" picture. Yes, I like to pretend that you care about the state of my coffee table. You don't actually have to care, of course. I have a vivid and narcissistic imagination.

I would have gotten a head start on the table if I'd gotten up with the cat alarm. She woke me around 7:30. By 8:00, she was so impatient that she bit me hard enough to leave marks. I was so pissed that I shoved her off the bed and slept until 9:00. Now I'm going to run the (feared, hated) vacuum cleaner before I attack the coffee table, just for spite. It's about time that Cricket remembers who has the opposable thumbs in this family, dammit.

(Cricket does remember this. She also remembers who has the sharp teeth and claws in this family. I guess it all balances out somehow.)

Oh yeah. Where was I standing to get such an overhead shot of the coffee table when I'm only 5'2 with shoes? On a ladder, o' course. Why do I have a ladder? Because you can't change light bulbs on a nine-foot ceiling without one. At least, I can't.

Onward!

I have conquered the clutter.

The paperwork is filed (in either hanging or circular files). Some of the bills have been paid; the others are stacked neatly on the desk with checkbook at the ready. The school stuff is organized. And the plant? On top of the bookshelves. I rule.

School is about to close for spring break, which will give me the time to repot the plant before it chokes on its own roots. First, though, is the 900-pound gorilla I've been avoiding all day: tomorrow's mid-term exam. I studied briefly earlier, but a pervasive sense of fatalism is squashing my motivation. It won't help to stay up all night cramming; either I know it or I don't, and that's the way it is.

Besides, the professor gave us the most important information already: his rules. To wit:

• No gerunds (verbs ending in -ing). Active verbs only.
• No use of "basically," "essentially," or any synonyms thereof.
• No vernacular (incorrect) use of "hopefully" (e.g. "Hopefully, I won't fail the mid-term exam").

I've got those down cold. Everything else is syllogisms and speeches. Looking at the sample test questions he gave us, I realize with embarrassing clarity how quickly I read the speeches and essays assigned so far, and, uh, how completely screwed I am.

Be strong, saith my heart, I am a soldier; I have seen worse sights than this.

But hey, check out my coffee table.