My desk is a mess. I cannot even see its 2×3 surface.

It is not enough to hold me.

On a good day, its piles and cups are contained, like organized chaos.

Today is not one of those days.

The piles slide, and the cups vomit out pens without my permission.

I ignore it for now.

The landslides begin, I can no long ignore the journals and index cards and paperclips.

It’s time to tend my garden.

Everything has a place, and must return to it.

But it can’t be too clean.

I operate well in a space that is messy-but-organized

So the architecture of my paper towers must be sound.

But nothing lasts forever, and soon I know that the inevitable will happen.

It will be time to tend my garden again.