That what my working desk is. I just finished tidying the file up, mind you, a job that took hours. And voila! The stack was reduced, allright, to about half of its size. But that's all. No sense of a new look, no sense of 'just been tidied up', no sense of cleanliness or orderliness whatsoever.
Perhaps it mirrors the owner: just as random, as messy, and 'deviated'. I wonder what a psychologist would think of me and my desk (and my room at home, for that matter).
Once, my eldest brother, being asked by his friend whether he had a little sister or not, answered this: nope, I don't. I have a little pirate, though. He illustrated my room at that time as "a ship just wrecked by pirate".
That's just how I like it, if only with a bit of clearer 'classification of mess' of the things lying around. (My poor dear husband is already given up on me and my mess. Has taken it as something that he just have to live with, I guess.)
On the other tip of the scale, there are people who keeps his desk so spotless and tidy is eerie. I call them 'neat freak'. No offense, but in my very personal opinion, you can't be in your right mind to have such desk. No stray of paper, no misplaced paper clips, sharp pencil and pens in their correct place. Geez..... the world according to them must have trees of the same height planted with exactly the same space between them. Like I said: eerie. Perpetual state of correctness - that's one world I don't want to live in.
But again, everybody is entitled to have his own way of living, don't they? I don't have to like it or even agree with it, but I will give them space nonetheless.
Don't you think a world will be such a beautiful place if people could do just that: give other people space and let them be?
Me and my perpetual state of messiness - take it, or leave it.
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