you get stuck on this decision: is this work-related or personal?
My work stuff ends up on my desk and my personal stuff ends up on my desk. No right or wrong. It just is. My work “to do” list sits on top of a flyer for a green cleaning service, which is on top of a list of the top SE Asian tech universities, which I used as a coffee coaster. Sorry Suranaree University, you got the worst of it.
Clutter drives me nuts. When I worked more in the office, I prided myself on my organization (and truth be told, I have a collection of notebooks at home, where I file away all my health, home improvement, financial stuff, etc. that would probably shock the hell out of most people). Sometimes I had a small pile of stuff on my desk at work, but it never looked like Staples barfed on my desk. My home office, as of this morning, has become a nightmare. I’m not even going to elaborate on the fact that Jonas peed under my desk (last weekend while I was sick and there was no way I could get out of bed and clean it but it is in fact now not only clean but smelling like “meadow breeze” or something like that) other than to say that my extensive cleaning rituals have served me well in the total removal of dog urine from carpeting. I ordered a black-light so that the search for unidentified tinkle spots can commence. Let’s think of it as a low-stakes game of CSI.
Anyway, this morning I got over asking myself the question of work related/personal and had to admit that the clutter was keeping me from getting stuff done; actual work stuff. And that I actually did spend time cleaning my office at work. And that it’s totally OK to take some time to clean my office at home, even if it means vacuuming in corners, putting the Nordstrom private sale on my calendar, cranking some music and…oh, yeah, ten minutes for dancing (which is now becoming my “feel good” morning ritual, because I feel awesome and obviously, a little funky).
One full day with nothing on my calendar but getting all the paper shizz off my desk, dusting shelves, shredding stuff. No stacks and no guilt.
“You’re old enough boy. Too many summers you’ve enjoyed. So spin the wheel. We’ll set you up with some new convictions.” Which has nothing to do with what I just wrote except that it is playing whilst I clean and I’m singing the “la la la la la” part out loud to my dog (who I totally forgive, I swear).