I had a day off from work today. I had some plans but they were altered due to weather conditions so I had to change gears and take a different tack. It wasn't hard to decide where to begin. My office looked like a whirling dervish had moved through it with little regard for surface or floor space. The floor was littered with music that needed sorting, counting, and filing. My work table had bills, lists, and birthday cards that needed attending to. My desk's left hand corner was suffering from magazine collection and article-tearing-out syndrome, at which I am only too adept. Here and there were other scraps of paper that simply needed filing in my filing cabinet, newly purchased greeting cards that needed to be placed in the proper-category folder, and countless pieces of paper that simply needed the decision to discard. There was a pile of Christmas cards that sat, waiting for my fantasy of replying to the notes and letters still inside. After sorting through the pile for one last time, I threw all out but two, which have now been moved to the right side of my desk, where, theoretically, I will see them every day and somehow remember that I need to write personal notes to the senders of the cards. Then there are the multiple post-it notes, all notated with what must be vital information such as a change of email address, the title to a piece of music that might be good for the choir that I lead, the fact that my new black sweat pants need mending, a coupon for two dollars off a meal at my favorite breakfast haunt, three cents-off coupons clipped from Sunday's paper, and four reward cards from area retailers. Oh, yes, there is also a snack-sized, zippered plastic bag containing a broken-up granola bar that I did not consume yesterday while at church. There had been lots of dust bunnies lurking about but I managed to dust my desktop off, as well as my laptop's screen and keyboard.
Such is the minutiae of life, is it not? Am I defined by what is atop all of the surfaces in my office, as well as what sits on the surrounding shelves? If I never returned to my office, what would subsequent visitors to 'my space' think about its former occupant? What conclusions could be drawn by looking at what hangs on my walls and what books occupy the bookshelves? What message would be sent by the contents of my desk drawers and my ridiculously big collection of pens, markers, and Ticonderoga Number Two pencils? Not to mention the numerous pads of Post-it notes waiting about for my thoughts to be recorded before I forget some detail?
Tomorrow I head back to work, not knowing for how many more days I'll be gainfully employed but pathetically financially rewarded. At least I leave home tomorrow knowing my office is clean. What is it they say about a clean desk being the sign of a sick mind......or something like that?
Ancora imparo
