The Big Box of Doom

My husband can't stand his office anymore. He sent e-mail to a wonderful organizational consultant, but I pointed out that it would cost less (and avoid wasting her talent) if we completed the initial cleanup ourselves, then asked her to help him tweak his tendencies until he could keep it organized. I periodically triage his office and sort things into papers requiring immediate attention (like checks to be cashed that have been Under Something for 5 months), things that need attention at some point, things to be filed, and trash. I didn't have a chance to do that before he couldn't stand it anymore, so he tackled it. His first pass was a little different.
He put everything that was on the floor or on his desk in a box.
Absolutely everything.
The office looks much better, but there is a Big Box of Doom in it.
To make matters worse, the new insurance cards that we needed to go to the pediatric neurologist today were in it.
I am the Goddess of panicked ADD men. I found it without strewing the contents of the box all over the office again.
The Big Box of Doom is still waiting, though. I think I hear a malicious laugh every time I walk by it. One of my son's toys must have been mixed in with my husband's papers...
I absolutely must finish one of my projects before I tackle that box. The next was going to be clearing an exercise area in the basement, but the offer of free chickens just moved up the timetable on building a chicken run and coop. Our own eggs! It has been years since I have had hens around.