This Organ Eyes

Dear J-

At work I’m suffering from the self-inflicted scourge of disorganization; there’s plenty going on but nothing more or less important than me sitting around in a state of sheer disorganization; between my inbox and my desk there’s nothing that won’t get buried in a pile of papers before too long. I understand that with enough diligent searching I’ll probably be able to find … well, something, but it shouldn’t have to be that way. Next steps: folders, labels, being a responsible adult rather than a sad sack of disorganization.

Without it, each day is starting to blend into the next and I can’t say for one way or another how I’m fixing it. I look at other desks which are clean and organized and know that’s not me, possibly not ever going to be me, but it’s something I should at least pretend is a priority. Let’s see. Remember when … remember when you had to clean up old coffee rings from the new desk you had for a month or two? How about when your mouse disappeared? Do I really need rocks from Camp Pendleton, nice chunk of quartz though it might be? You think vividly about these things and it’s clear that all of them or none of them are really necessary.

In the lab you’re supposed to be concerned with housekeeping issues; a messy workspace can blossom into a safety violation. Likewise in the office, it’s clear that a messy space doesn’t imply creativity; it’s not can’t-be-bothered either, as when that’s the case you’re usually important enough to have someone scuttling around behind you in your wake. Nope, this just means you’re lazy, your work is weak and they’re well within their rights to can you, doesn’t it? Huh. All that extrapolation from a few casual pieces of paper lying around? Except it’s not just a few, and they’ve been around for more than a week or two, casual put-offs aside.

Mike

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