I do believe I have a serious problem, particularly pertaining to my desk(s). I simply cannot seem to keep them organized. I have a fairly decent system. Books go in a pile in the corner, pens go in that cup, other pens go in that other cup… more pens go in the other three cups. (I have a lot of pens.) I just can’t seem to maintain that system. It’s never a conscious rebellion; I just place something on my desk, and soon it’s invited all of its friends and relatives to the party. “Oh, hello Laser Pointer! I heard that we’re having a Hang Out on Chris’ Desk Party,” said the stapler to the laser pointer.
It’d be pretty awesome if my desk was somewhat sentient. I don’t want it to be completely so, but maybe just enough to the point that when I placed something out of place, it would rebel and knock it off or incinerate it or something. “RAWR! You do not belong here, shoelaces!” *fwoosh* And thus I had to buy new shoelaces… again.
Though, I suppose that could be a problem. If my desk were intelligent enough to distinguish between acceptable objects and not, then I might have larger problems on my hands than just untidiness. The Night of the Living Desks. Also, desk civil rights?
But seriously, I’m not sure that I’ll ever really solve this problem. I think it might be genetic. Somewhere in the Human Genome Sequence is a thread for tendencies towards having untidy desks. I’m sure all the important scientists are working on the problem now. Right? Of course right!
And now for something completely different.
I feel that I have neglected Pop Tarts for far too long now. My heart has yearned to write of them, and my taste buds have longed for the sensations of their delightfulfullness and magnificence. My toaster has sat waiting patiently, yet mournfully. My cabinets, though by no means empty, have long looked as though they’re missing some vital component. These very words pain me to write, yet I feel that I must. Maybe I’ll pick some up at Walmart today…
Bye for now!