I reached first lady Laura Bush’s press secretary, who said, and I quote, “That would be classified information.”

My daughter responded by putting a lock on her bedroom door.

That’s what I would do with my office door except I am neither as smart nor as handy as she is.

So I have begun a massive cleanup that includes getting rid of countless books (not any of the seven I have written, though Lord knows some people think they should be in a landfill) and reams of paper (I must have more paper, including almost 40 years’ worth of newspaper columns, than the National Archives).

I have so far donated more than 100 books to my local library, including textbooks from high school and college that I never read. It’s a wonder I graduated.

During the most recent of our never-ending home improvement projects, we had a Dumpster in the driveway. I took advantage of it by unloading tons of stuff that at one time seemed important but which clearly was dispensable.

Slowly but surely, there is light at the end of the tunnel. (I’m afraid that a locomotive is in there, too.)

But the cleanup isn’t over. I am taking a break because I am at the point of exhaustion. Yes, I know that a cluttered office is the sign of a sick, disorganized mind. On the other hand, a pristine office is the sign of a sick, compulsive mind. Either way, I can’t win.

Still, I am hoping to find Jimmy Hoffa. It would be like winning the lottery.

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