In one of my favorite Louis C.K. skits, he describes children (accurately) as buckets of disease, and tells a story about his daughter coughing literally into his mouth. Like, aiming her germs at the back of his throat.

At least, this used to be one of my favorite Louis C.K. skits. It's not quiiiite as funny these days, mostly because it's just what actually happens. All. The. Time. Right in the mouth.

Anyway, I'm sick. And I spent yesterday in pajamas in an effort to magically cure myself before today's nine-hour drive to Ohio, which means that I had a lot of time to do things like file and clean out drawers. All very boring stuff, I'll grant you - I'd rather talk about sangria recipes and New Year's Eve outfits, too - but I mean it when I say that getting organized is THE BEST. Literally. The best.

I own a weird number of small side and end tables for three reasons:

1. When I was in college, my parents inexplicably developed a habit of buying me tables as presents (during my freshman year they brought one with them nearly every time they visited, perhaps fearing that a lack of surface areas upon which to rest my books would leave me vulnerable to things like not-studying and keg stands)

2. The Upper East Side, where Kendrick and I used to live, is a treasure trove of discarded furniture on weekend mornings, and we went through a phase where we frequently dragged pieces up to our apartment for a little rehab;

3. I like them. Maybe it's genetic.