Last night, I dreamed about the horrible office warehouse where I suffered for several years between 1973 and 1977, Office Outfitters, owned by a total jerk named Dudley Inwood, whom we called Deadly behind his back. Fifteen minutes ago, I answered the phone and it was a call from Chuck Veidt, one of my co-workers from Office Outfitters, who was trying to track me down for another of our co-workers, Peggy Short, who's around 87 now. She and my mother were the same age. We will get together when I'm back to visit at Thanksgiving.
I've ordered the filing cabinet, which will arrive on Tuesday, tidied up as much of the mess as I can, and I feel pretty good about the apartment situation. I'm still undecided about whether or not to move the floor lamp.