Yesterday, I found myself at the point where I needed to make a move on something that I have been procrastinating on for far too long: for the first time in a blue moon, I resolved myself to clean up my desk.

Yesterday, I found myself at the point where I needed to make a move on something that I have been procrastinating on for far too long: for the first time in a blue moon, I resolved myself to clean up my desk.


Cleaning has never been a task that I would do willingly without any coaxing or a lack of bellyaching, so the fact that I took it upon myself to do this seemed out of character, even to me.


As I started to sort through and dispose of the piles of this, that, and the other that have slowly built up on my desk, I realised that the more I put off this chore, the more it silently grew, quite literally. The longer I put it off, the more work it took to get it back in workable order.


Stacks of paper that threatened to topple down in an avalanche like you’d see in any winter survival show, notes to myself from events that have long since passed, and more pens than a Bic factory, seemed to cover every single surface on my desk outside of the small bit of work space I carved out of the clutter to work. How did I ever let it get this bad?


While there are a definite downsides to being a chronic pack rat, it isn’t completely bad. As I sorted through the contents of my desk, setting aside the trash to one side and things I will keep on another, I felt a bit of nostalgia, finding things I had forgotten I owned that were lost under to the ages under piles of paperwork. It felt like a treasure hunt, in an odd way. The only unnerving part of such an adventure comes when you find something that you neither recognise, nor have any idea how it got there.


My desk is (relatively) clean now, but I know it is just a matter of time before the clutter will build up again. Here is hoping that I can find the willpower to fight the urge to procrastinate, and keep the mess to a manageable amount.