Work has been insane for me lately, and, as a result, my less-than-stellar organizational skills and neatness have reached new lows.
With my mind going in all directions, and with none of my multiple personalities taking the lead, my work space looks like a Pinterest board displaying the many forms of paper terrorism.
All these tree exiles taunt me in their own ways:
- The company copies of the taxi vouchers proving I took a cab to some meeting at some location sit loosely clipped together and strategically placed on the edge of the desk as if in preparation for a suicide jump into the recycling bin below.
- A multi-page printout of some clever chart I created to show all the work that needs to be done hides in the wide abyss that is the back of my desk. The printout would probably prove very valuable if I ever remembered to consult it, or even remembered that it exists. If I don’t see it back there, does it really exist? Oh how I hate you my existential chart!
- Copious sticky notes that I fruitlessly try to stick to my monitors like some early warning system. They yell at me daily and sometimes swan dive off the monitor, affixing themselves to other stickies or printouts on my desk. This creates undue stress when I wonder why my technical requirements document has a bright yellow sticky attached to it proclaiming, “catastrophic results”. If that’s not bad enough, it’s punctuated with three question marks and one exclamation point, and I can’t stop wondering if it refers to something in my document or something else I was supposed to pay attention to.
- Random sized and shaped loose-leaf paper with detailed instructions or itemized to-dos that I scrawled out upon waking suddenly at 3 am to find my brain was still trying to nail down a work process, and, oddly, trying to solve a math equation from grade 9.
- Hard-cover notebooks bursting with psychotic, dancing letters loosely strung together giving the appearance of cursive writing. I can tell how stressful the meeting was by how often the blue parallel lines in the book can’t contain the letters and by how many sentences, and even words, just stop, hanging incompletely in space. Makes me wonder what brilliant thought could have followed, “Before launch make sure we”. Thank God the “catastrophic results” sticky didn’t land on that page!
- And, worst of all, the mysterious, and official looking, Excel printout filled with all sorts of, gasp, numbers – my most evil, dreaded nemeses! I spent a day and a half wondering why I had this document and what the hell I was supposed to do with it when suddenly a co-worker wandered in to my office and casually said, “Oh, that’s where I left my body mass index printout.” So. Not. Cool. Dude.