Jill deleted three emails that made her blush. Where did these people get her address from? Nothing seemed pressing in her inbox so she took the time to clean out her deleted and sent emails. This was known to everyone else in the world as stalling. Or avoiding work. But really that is all just semantics. How can one work with a clear mind when they have a cluttered figurative desk. If these were paper, she would be buried in files. It had to be done. And the fact that she had an appointment the next day with her accountant to discuss the taxes she hadn’t thought about all year had nothing to do with it.

There sat in the corner by the front door a shoebox full of receipts begging for her attention. But first things first. The Newsboys sang through her iPod as she clicked and deleted to her heart’s content. Her goal was to get under 100 deleted items. The sents were tricky and more in need of file folder organization than a quick delete so would take more time. Must eat the elephant on bite at a time so she figured she would save that task for another day.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on Arthur’s face when she plopped down the shoebox. It’s a good thing he was her uncle or her accountant bill would be astronomical. He was semi-retired and hadn’t worked on most tax return for a decade but for tax season he always came in to do his family members returns. Jill’s was always pretty straightforward. But this past year he business had burgeoned and she actually had a healthy black number in her Income column. It’s too bad her bank account didn’t look so robust.

Her good friend from Bible Study had needed a new transmission put on her car and Jill had offered to help how she could. She had wiped out her checking account helping Tonya out but Jill had a big check coming in from a new client and she felt Tonya needed the money, and the car, more. Tonya lived too far out for public transportation and Jill knew that Tonya would pay her back when she could.

The computer blipped as new mail was delivered to her inbox. She closed one eye as she pointed her cursor over the mail icon. Please no more advertisements for male needs, she silently begged.

The tag line made her grin. “Please pass your eye” called her from an organizational stupor. How could she not immediately open the newest installment from Colonel Richards? She wasn’t sure how exactly she had tied herself to the Colonel, but over the past six months she had steadily helped the man edit his memoirs. A Herculean task to be sure. What he considered light editing really meant eight passes by the spell check and an annotated list of acronyms he had become versed in during his military career. Having no military experience, Jill had come to rely on a few websites to tell an NCO from an MRE.