I find myself seeking an organizational philosophy. This need is so direct that even the vaunted ‘algorithm’ noticed, loading my sidebars and Facebook stream with organizational books and thoughts. Getting right is as easy as writing: all it requires is butt in chair. Yes, but there is the issue right there.
The love of my life introduced me to the Neil Gaiman ‘book job’ episode of the Simpsons where Lisa tries to become an author. Predictably, she finds herself sitting at her desk and discovering anything else to do. I have a TV poised above my desk wired into the chromecast, which means the sucker runs Netflix, youtube, and, well, the web. Of course I mitigate this distraction by first explaining it as a necessary research element (lie) and then as a device that I can turn off whenever I want to (junkie). Herein lies the problem at hand.
It is not enough to want to be better in life. You must create the uncomfortable conditions that force your flabby self into the mold of a literary (and productivity) Adonis. These piles marring the edges of my desk are not good. Tonight, after a rousing tackle practice with the kids, I intend to lash out at the desk beast and start to whittle away at this clutter that dominates my life and steals my ability to function. Yes, I’m aging, but I am not dead. I shall rise.
Maybe just climb to my feet.