|This is the room full of the people who will find this post interesting. Hah!|
For example, right now, I'm painting a closet and installing shelves. (Well, not right now, obviously. I'm easily distracted by screens.) The business is undergoing a fair bit of turmoil, and any one of about a dozen things need my immediate attention. One of the most pressing crises is our molasses-slow method of processing work requests. When we get 25-50 per day, or more, the whole system can grind down to a stand-still. One way I'm combatting the grind is renovating our whole estimate-giving system, which means I need to rebuild our CRM (customer relationship manager -- some of you may have once called it a "database.") It's a grueling, time-sucking slog for a man of mediocre technological prowess, and I. Am out. Of time.
So, naturally, I'm putting up shelves. No, it makes sense. On one hand, out of frustration I want to put this drill through the sliding glass door. On the other, I understand the strategery of shelves.
Bear with me. I'm not entirely sure I have a good handle on this, but it goes something like this:
I need my wife's help. She's great with numbers and can monitor the status of home and business from a bird's eye view. But she needs a place to work -- a wide, spacious, flat-surfaced, well-lit area to work. It must have a door to keep kids out.
That means we need a place for our post-move detritus. That means shelves. That means that in order to get backup and counsel to solve an immediate problem I have to "shelve" everything, so to speak, and install shelves.
It can bake one's noodle.