Okay. So yeah. Ummm. I have a bit of stuff.

Oh, wait. It has been pointed out to me, by me and EVERYONE ELSE ON EARTH, that this could possibly be considered an understatement.

OK. So. I have some stuff.

Argh. Fine.

I HAVE COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF STUFF SURROUNDING ME EVERYWHERE AT ALL TIMES FOREVER.

Does that cover it?

I am absolutely convinced that you spend all of your twenties slowly amassing an extensive collection of socially-deemed necessary accessories for adult life, followed by the requisite turning-thirty crisis that eventually leads you to realize that you neither need nor want the assortment of toasters, screwdrivers, linens, concert ticket stubs, books, books, books, modular shelving, citrus juicers, ceramic ornaments and gently-used exercise equipment, which now makes your living space resemble the next episode of TLC's Hoarders. AND THEN YOU SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IN THERAPY TRYING TO EMOTIONALLY DETACH YOUR SENSE OF SELF WORTH FROM MATERIAL GOODS AND REFRAME THIRTY YEARS OF NORTH AMERICAN CONSUMER INDOCTRINATION SO THAT YOU ARE ABLE TO CLEAR A PATH FROM YOUR BEDROOM TO THE FRONT DOOR OF YOUR HOUSE WITH THE HOPES OF ONE DAY SEEING SUNLIGHT AGAIN.

Ummm. I mean, then you spend the rest of your life trying to get rid of things you don't need anymore.

Okay. Obviously I am not all the way through the adulthood-onset crisis and corresponding therapy.

Which brings me to Operation Desert Stuff.

First of all, I should point out the cleverness in the naming scheme. Operation Desert Stuff. Get it? GET IT? Desert ST-uff ... like Desert ST-orm, but I switched the -orm for an -uff ... GET IT? And get how I switched the meaning of the word 'desert' from a noun meaning a dry, barren area of land to a verb meaning to abandon? So, like, I am abandoning my stuff? GET IT?

Also, in case you got confused (and subsequently excited), it's not Operation Dessert Stuff. There aren't any pastries or cookies or triple-layer chocolate cakes or cerises flambée or buttercream icing involved.

Mmmmmmm .... buttercream icing and chocolate cake.

Wait. I got confused. And somewhat excited. What am I talking about again?

Oh, right, left home, went to college, got married, got a lot of stuff that the world told me I needed and that I told me I couldn't get rid of, turned thirty, had a crisis, went to therapy and now I am cleaning my house. And I made a logo, to prove that I am successfully going to work up to parting with the fourteen casserole dishes I got as bridal shower gifts.

Argh. Fine. I made the damn logo because I was procrastinating. Well, that and because this task is essentially on par with the committment, resources, and manpower required for a small military operation.

So. First stop, the office.

Argh. FINE.

First stop, both sides of the office: