Sandy Supposes....

My Desk is a Hoarder's Harem

OMPT: Noted smart guy Albert Einstein once said, "If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?" Well, answer the man! And while you're at it, feel free to agree or disagree with your conclusion and its relation to whatever Einstein may have been referring to, citing you own workspaces as example.

          The only empty desks I have ever seen are those displayed as merchandise in furniture stores, or office supply venues. They stand forlornly, and solitary. They have yet to inspire , or experience creativity.

         An empty desk is vacant, and unproductive. It takes up space, but for what purpose? So too an empty mind exists, and waits. Does it await inspiration, motivation, imagination, explanation, clarity, raison d'etre? Can a mind ever truly be empty? Doesn't the average brain process countless stimuli constantly? Aren't we continuously firing on all cylinders?

         At first glance, my home desk top might erroneously appear to be a candidate for a certain Life Network program. Yes, it resembles a hoarder's harem. It is indeed 'busy', or as Einstein stated 'cluttered'. I consider it to be Command Central with a flat screen television that serves double duty as both my computer monitor, and program-viewing device. My wireless keyboard is tucked in next to a DVD player, and my internet modem. Within easy reach are pens, pencils, coloured markers, paper, a loose calendar I scribble on, my current journal, a scrapbook of anecdotes, my ideas notebook, scissors, photos, a digital camera, my dusty e-reader, mail and bills, a few scattered knick-knacks, a handful of keys, and a collection of Minion figures. Oh, the various writing implements are stuffed into two ceramic mugs, a SpongeBob one, and a Minion one. My cantankerous wireless mouse is snuggled up against a cup of cooling tea. Surprisingly, I still have room to peck away at the keys without too much undo strain. Basically, the dust remains undisturbed as long as I remain unperturbed. This is where the magic happens?

         I can see that my desk reflects moi. I can view movies or television, when I'm in the mood to be entertained . I can create correspondence via snail mail, or e-mail. I can search, and surf from the comfort of my chair, although it does tend to roll inexplicably, and my battered toes can attest to this. Taking advantage of my distraction, this rump receptacle once bucked me onto the floor. I immerse myself in writing, and up-dating my journal. From time to time, my eldest grand-daughter consults with me via texts, and Facebook, and I once again share in the joy of homework. I'm able to both create, and take care of business.

         It's not so much clutter as it's organized chaos. I know where everything is, or more accurately, where it should be which is where I put it. Meh, I don't believe I am scatter-brained, or in danger of losing my faculties just yet. Sure, there's a great deal skidding, skittering, scampering, sashaying, shuffling, and squawking through my mind at any given time. This means I am alive, and processing. I am receptive, and reactive. My desk and I are sympatico. If my desk was empty it would mean I have given up, and I plan to never permit this.