There's a pile of papers that live on my desk.
It's a steadily growing pile, about three inches tall, and I tend to love it and hate it so many times over the course of the day.
The pile is organized, per se. The papers are important, you see, so I can't throw them away, but I can't necessarily file them because they'd need their own file? Or they don't really fall under one category... is this one events or marketing? It's marketing for events. Should that be its own folder? A separate folder? a binder maybe??
See, it's nonsense, so into the pile these papers go, shamelessly (or shamefully) contributing to deforestation everywhere and my crippling inability to ever truly, truly clean my desk.
Then, there's the sticky notes. Hundreds of sticky notes that seem to breed right where they've been planted, with phone numbers and notes and names of people scribbled every which way over nine square inches.
Fortunately for me, the one thing I seem to have conquered is my pens. The pens are meticulously organized and always within reach.
The felt tips go in a floral cup from IKEA that held my toothbrushes in college, and the sharpies go in the Harney & Sons tea tin with the scissors.
Order. In the midst of chaos.
At least my pens have it down.