Yes. I admit it. My desk (Who am I kidding? My whole house…) is a mess. I used to worry about it, but lately, I’ve adopted a rather blissful “Bite Me!” attitude about the whole thing.
I’m on a rant, because my daughter told me she thinks I’m so lucky ’cause I get to stay home and have coffee with my staff all day. Whereas she is forced to endure the drudgery of grade-five prison every day when she leaves the house (not exaggerating, she actually thinks she’s in prison 6 hours of the day). Poor dear…can’t imagine what she’s gonna think about paying taxes when I put her out on the curb with her Barbie suitcase when she’s 18 (oh yeah…big talk…I’ll be the mom hanging on to my kids’ arms begging them to live with me when they’re 30 and trying to escape)!
Contrary to what my children AND my mother think, this is not what my day “at work” looks like!
It looks a whole lot more like this…only way more paper and empty coffee cups all over the desk:
It’s not the work that’s really got me cheesed off (I absolutely love my work…except doing quarterly taxes and the payroll…hate that). It’s the mess that I have created that’s really bugging me, and apparently it’s bugging my beloved assistants, Kim and Tracy, who are threatening to quit if they have to climb over any more piles of boxes, catalogues and week-old Starbuck’s cups just to get in the door!
Apparently Albert Einstein said, “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, then what are we to think of an empty desk?” (don’t quote me on that quote). Hmmm…the brainiac’s desk looks an awful lot like mine (the cheeky part of me is just itching to type “bite me” right about now…must…show…restraint…).
Sigh. In case you haven’t figured it out yet…I can’t procrastinate any longer…I actually have to clean up my office. Where’s the shovel…I know it’s in here somewhere.