Organised Mess


I’m an organised mess.

The conventional desk with the most basic items, such as a lamp, stationery and a tiny looking notebook, just aren’t sufficient for my eye’s pleasure.

I need to mess it up.

Sprawling all over the faded purple desk are half-filled plastic bottles, scraps of paper scribbled with thoughts, colourful packets of tissues, and a surprise of coins in every corner.

The conventional professionally named files with orderly folders arranged 0.2 inches apart for all sides, gives me the greatest eyesore ever.

I need to mess it up.

Files with amazingly absurd names, in “Untitled Folder” folders, all the way from 1 to 32, makes me breathe just fine. Icons hurled randomly across the Mavericks home screen with tons of minimised windows doesn’t faze me.

The conventional “What a great day it is” with a sip of English Breakfast with 2 exact cubes of sugar, to a productive schedule till 11pm, is something I can’t comprehend.

I need to mess it up?

The monster succeeds with an ambush, pouncing over my shoulder and ripping apart the healing wound, exposing the leftover pus, which oozes out uncontrollably down into my trembling hands. It will never let me escape.

Perhaps, my mess isn’t organised.