"Sabbatical" implies rest, a sabbath. Clearly, last week wasn't restful. I thought of it more like the sabbaticals afforded to professors: a break from the usual work to work on something else.
Though not restful, my cleaning sabbatical was satisfying. The study and basement in particular feel less oppressive now that floor space has been cleared of junk.
The cleaning project really isn't finished, but I think I managed to start something and get some momentum that will carry us through what is usually called "spring cleaning." I intend to keep a bookcase devoted to discards; I am fond of systematic approaches to problems, and while there are systems in place for getting books and media into our home, we haven't to this point had a systematic way of getting them out.
So, to my readers, thanks for putting up with the tiresome details of this little adventure. And thanks especially to Mike, who only got visibly cranky with me twice during all of this. That's monumental. The first time he was ever really mad at me was when I moved his stuff, and I expected this last week to be a living hell of domestic strife. But I worked hard to keep the disruption to a minimum : every day, an hour before Mike got off work, I stopped what I was doing and began putting things away. Mike put up with it all, and I'm grateful.
Now, honey, could you sort through the remaining video cassettes and clean out the mess under your side of the desk?