On the futility of cleaning my desk, and finding a secret coin with a sign from above
My desk is a disaster. It's piled many levels deep with books and papers, boxes, and art. Coin supplies and crap that should have been tossed long ago. For months I've been working in a little carved out space, pushing things aside to claim a few square inches, moving them back when I add more to the pile or go through everything to find something I need. I've been meaning to take care of this mess for months, but what's the point? As soon as I do, it will begin its reversion to a state of disarray, achieving it far too quickly.
Nevertheless, I decided to start cleaning my desk. Garbage day is tomorrow, and various worthless OGP boxes--the coins they once held now long gone--can be taken far away, never to be seen again, if I move them mere feet. And what's this? A poorly made wooden box designed to hold a slab. It takes up so much space, it would cost far too much to ship. It serves me no good. For some reason, I decide that I should take out the insert designed to snugly hold the slab. Why, though? Both the box and the insert are going into the same garbage bin.
And then, there it is. A coin I never knew existed, hidden under the insert! I pick it up and take a look.
A quarter. A dateless Standing Liberty Quarter. It's better than nothing, but it's not much. I turn it over. A sign from above. I'm done. My desk will remain a mess. I'll go have a drink instead.