My Bunker/Command Central

I just finished writing the draft of the first of my two large end of the semester historiography papers. I've spent almost all day at my desk pounding away at the computer, and now it is almost 11:30 pm.

Over the past month or so, I've come to view my office as my bunker. The only problem with this metaphor of course is that it is on the 8th floor of the building. Perhaps a more appropriate metaphor would therefore be command central. I have history books from all of my classes, research materials on Church history during the Third Reich, Catholic Family congresses during the Weimar Republic, a volume of old news papers from 1929 Cologne, an untold number of Russian handouts, pictures of Bielefeld, a poem to the glory of Stalin, food from the Co-op, papers to grade, newspapers, a peanuts cartoon, my computer, and hand moisturizer. In other words, if Nuclear Bombs were to rain down this very second I would be well stocked. Unfortunately, I'm on the 8th floor of a tower, not in an underground bunker. . . (Yes, I know this makes no sense, but deal with it. . . )