Blogatron

Looking for me? Just check The Pile.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, the time has come to admit that I am not infallible. Sure, I present a formidable and terrifying veneer of confidence to the humans around me; sure, my apparently seamless perfection intimidates and alarms those who encounter my greatness. That's a given.

However, this does not mean that I have mastered every aspect of Earth life. You see, I have a desk.

Or, at least, I had a desk when we moved into this place. I assume it's still there.

I jus't can't figure out how some people manage to keep theirs clean, because mine? Mine is a random crap magnet. I swear it doesn't even have anything to do with me.

Yet, I've met regular people, people who seem to be just like you and me, walking around like they're just normal humans, waiting until you come over to visit to reveal that they hold this arcane and lofty secret, this lore of how to keep your surfaces clear and your drawers uncluttered. ?How the hell do they do it, man?

In addition to the standard supplies (printer, laptop, video editing accessories, speakers, desk lamp), here is a highlights tour of the items atop my desk at this moment:

A package of DayQuil from when I had a cold three weeks ago and took some and realized that they made me all loopy and that sniffling was preferable to continually misjudging my distance and banging into doorframes and such;

A pile of stubs from bills I paid in September;

A separate pile of the envelopes, advertising for Lenox crystal vases at a low low price, and notifications of changes to privacy agreements that came with these bills;

A folded Post-It note bearing the name and phone number of someone I'm supposed to call back about, um, something, at work, which traveled home with me accidentally;

A grocery list for groceries that I've already purchased;

A homemade shelf which fell off the wall, with the hardware (i.e. pushpins) still attached;

The $5 Chinatown objet d'arte which the shelf was intended to support;

A letter tray, 3 inches tall, containing a pile of documents, notebooks, spare change, paperclips, sunglasses, plastic baggies of vitamins (No, really, Officer, I swear), broken pencils, sewing notions, and batteries (possibly, but not for sure, used, plus, I'm no longer sure which battery was paired with which and it says right on the package not to mix old and new batteries and what does this mean, will things blow up if I do? but then again batteries are expensive and it seems a shame to throw them out), measuring approximately 1 foot in height;

A black underwire bra, origin unclear;

That one part of the food processor that nobody knows what it does;

A Spongebob Squarepants party hat;

Four empty plastic grocery bags.

This is just the highlights, remember. It is to be hoped that you have gained an accurate picture of my desk situation, to wit: that it is a horrific pile of cluttered despair, and nothing I do seems to fix it. I can clean it as often as I want - doesn't matter a bit. I turn around and there it is again, The Pile. Although I can identify each and every item in The Pile, and pinpoint most of their origins, I cannot seem to remember exactly how they came to be infesting my desk. How can I prevent what I do not understand? Am I doomed to be continually treating the symptons and never curing the disease?

I fear that this is the case. I think I'd better start making friends with The Pile, because it's bigger than me, and I swear it's growing even as I type this, and I'm pretty sure it could beat me up if it wanted to.

Good Pile. Nice Pile.

See? I feel better already.

Hey! There's my Swiss Army knife! Thanks, Pile, dude!

Posted by hilatron at October 30, 2002 08:05 PM