For some reason I cannot fathom, some of you like to read about my cubed up life, so here’s an update.

Just a few days ago, a colleague from another department was scheduled to visit my office for a meeting. Not wanting to further ruin my reputation, I decided to clear up my cubicle a little. So I stashed the clothing hanging on my cubicle partition into a less-visible corner. As there already was a book in that less-visible corner, I had to remove it to make room for the clothing, and I ended up flipping through its pages…

Then a phonecall came. The colleague was outside.

When she came in to the cubicle farm area, she asked me which was my cubicle.

“Make a guess!” I had a feeling that she’d guess correctly, just like that other colleague. Some women have sixth sense.

“This one right?!??” she pointed with a knowing grin.

“What makes you think so?”

“Only artistic people are so messy,” was her wise answer.

“And look at all your books!” she pointed while shaking her head while giving me the you’re-beyond-all-repair look.

My books? I hadn’t even confirmed that the cubicle was mine, and she was already so sure. And she doesn’t even read my blog! (Otherwise she would have noticed my inbox.)

I don’t blame her. Due to the real-estate crisis within the cubicle, around 10 of my books are now stored on my cubicle partition.

Yup that’s right, I chose the right preposition. They are on my cubicle partition. 3 stacks of them balancing on the partition itself. I’m just waiting for someone to knock onto my cubicle partition wall, upsetting the delicate tri-biblio-equilibria and sending the books crashing down onto my craptium Toshiba…