I’ve tried to publish multiple thoughts this evening, but my mind is taking on a mirror image of my desk, and this clutter has reached a ‘Marie Kondo’ point.
Handwritten notes, glasses, a half-full bottle of Gucci cologne, a silver Seiko 5 and gold Casio Databank, a tall frosted bottle of Polish still water, packets of antibacterial wipes, nail clippers, four brand new serrated steak knives wrapped in too-thin a plastic for anyone’s peace of mind, a handful of rolls of film and a ream of crinkled petrol receipts.
Trying to type has felt like I’m swimming towards the surface of a crystal clear ocean and my breath is faltering. The distance to where water and oxygen meet, unceasing. Even with this increasing level of discomfort I still felt compelled to write something, to give of myself, just anything.
I wonder if any of these haphazard items will be with me next year. The Seiko and Casio unquestionably. The rest just desktop hitchhikers currently in passing. Who will come by this way in the future and how often or not will they be as forgettable? Pictures of a future lover, heartfelt cards of the passing birthdays and holiday seasons, unexpected fines for driving through a crimson light, or a bill for that trial subscription I’d forgotten to cancel?
This desk is a highway rest stop for inanimate objects. A place to pass through whilst they travel from here to there.
And now it’s come time to whisk away this bric-a-brac, and make space for the newcomers to filter through.