Charity Space

Thanks to the many briefs I received over the past 4 months and 10 days, I've run out of drawer space. It's pretty pathetic, really. Running out of wall space for pictures... is considered okay. Running out of shelf space for Limited Edition Teddy Bears... is considered highly juvenile and borderline pathetic but okay. Running out of drawer space for briefs is NOT okay.

Sigh.

I've been having trouble opening and closing my drawers because of the pile of papers I've collected throughout my duration at the company I'm at and... well, logic tells me they won't be getting any lesser over time. I almost twisted my arm, broke my wrist and sprained my little finger today when I tried looking through the hazardous pile for some old work I needed to refer to.

It. Had. To. Stop... and it did. Heh.

Today, I happily accepted what I can only call Charity Space from a fellow colleague who doesn't seem to need the space as much as I do. (Hmmm. I wonder if I should be nice in return and share some of my workload with the kind fellow. *grin*)

See! See! MY space!

Mind you, what you see is only a quarter of the pile of briefs that made the drawer that almost ripped my arm off groan under its weight. Honestly, though, this picture doesn't do that rejected-and-segregated-from-the-rest pile any justice at all! It's actually a lot more than that in real life – much more than the picture successfully deceives you into believing. Plus, it's a whole lot more work than it looks in even real-ER life. Trust me.

Yes, I branded it. Why... didn't you know? Women are territorial creatures. Highly territorial. Especially when it comes to our beds, our men and even more so when it comes to our Charity Space.