Oh, that my desk were clean. I have books partially read stacked among notes half written, grocery lists, catalogs, the checkbook and crumpled receipts (yikes!), cds, the camera, and a bottle or two of nail polish...
What a mess.
If, on one hand, a clean desk would indicate an organized and orderly mind, then uncluttering this disaster would be in one respect, dishonest. If, however, (or on the other hand, if that's where I am, I may already be lost) a messy desk is a sign of so much going on that I am unable to keep up- do I want to openly display that degree of honesty?!
Life has been a whirlwind of late. If I were an organized person by design, my home would reflect the ebb and flow merely by the number of place settings at the table... at least that's what I imagine. I would continue my routines of cleaning, dusting, balancing and organizing, right around our busy-ness and there would be no chaos.
But where's the adrenaline in that?!
I'll have to get to the bottom of this pile this morning so that it won't distract me while my Dad is here. The increasing size of the mess does make it difficult for Milo to join me here, comfortably purring on top of my papers as I write; occasionally batting my pen if I'm writing the old-fashioned way. I don't want to miss that, so it is time to close this post and pick up the mess. The ebb of the tide has come.
Then there's the mess on my nightstand...
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