My desk is not so small as you all think. It has two levels. Two! Look closely at this photo:
See the stuff below? It’s not on the floor it’s the second level of the desk.
I’m now curious about your working spaces. If you feel so inclined take a photo and link to it in the comments.
Kenina-Chan wanted before and after photos of my desk but sadly it did not occur to me to take a before photo so instead I offer you some statistics:
Hours spent cleaning the desk: 12
Weight of paper to be recycled: 5 kilos (11 pounds)
Weight of garbage: 0.9 kilos (2 pounds)
Number of dead things discovered: classified
Breaks taken during cleaning: lots
Time spent working at desk since cleaning: 0
And here is a photo of the recycling and garbage removed from the desk during cleaning:
And here is the clean desk from two different angles as the sun sets:
I may never work again.
It has come to this. I have the final round of edits on the Fairy book. They are in manuscript form. However, there is no room on my desk to put the manuscript. The towering piles of crap cannot stand any further weight, not even one small piece of paper, definitely not 264 manuscript pages. I know because I tried and there was much toppling of crap to the floor. It is now dumped back on the desk.
The desk must be cleaned in order for me to work.
I am afraid of it. It is now more like an archaeological dig than mere cleaning. I fear what I might find: I did clean away all uneaten food, didn’t I? I fear what I won’t find: All those things I’ve been looking for and not found could be buried somewhere in those many layers. But what if they’re not?
And what am I going to do with the stuff on the desk that must be kept? It’s not like there’s anywhere else to put it.
The cleaning of my desk fills my heart with despair.
Perhaps I could work on the floor in the front room? Or on the kitchen table? Or at someone else’s kitchen table?
No. I must be brave. I must delve into those hidden depths and make them go away.
Wish me luck. Pray that I do not get buried alive in an avalanche of old catalogues and magazines and receipts and envelopes and wine labels and dead electronic bits and letters and business cards and books and pens that don’t work and postcards and head phones and empty water bottles and note books and hair clips and lens cloths and post-its and lip balm and all the stuff I can’t actually see. Or eaten by the cockroaches, rats and scorpions that may emerge from the bottom layer.
If I do not post again remember me kindly.