I?m finding it impossible to write this because every time I sit at my desk I find something to clean. Unlike normal folks who kick back and watch television when they procrastinate, I clean. My room is spotless. It sparkles like a dish-detergent ad. At the moment though, my desk looks like Office Depot vomited on it. Paperclips galore. Which is why every time I sit down I find a magazine encroaching on my elbow room, or books haphazardly stacked in the corner, waiting to bring down everything else I?ve thrown on top of them.

Now that I?ve given you a small mental picture that does not do my mess justice, explain why I would want a smaller desk. See, I can?t either. Somehow I?ve convinced myself that a smaller surface area will mean less space to trash. Thinking back now though, I?m starting to think that my ill-constructed piles will not go away, or even grow smaller. They will grow taller. Galileo proved that gravity does exist, and what is stacked up, will eventually fall down. No matter how many times I tried to build the world?s largest tower of blocks in preschool, they would eventually topple to the ground. I think stacking is an acquired skill, and I just didn?t acquire it. I forgot to get in line when it was being handed out.

I think the best solution right now would just be to scrap the desk and move to the floor. It?s purely a safety precaution. If my piles can?t keep themselves from falling and scattering themselves across my desk, I can at least prevent them from falling off my desk. Case in point: A ridiculously high stack has shifted in the breeze and begun to topple. I, from my perch just a few feet away, do not have the time or the energy to lunge after it. I?m also just a little afraid my sudden movement could cause severe paper cuts. Therefore I let it go, watch it hit the desk and continue the journey that is gravity-assisted velocity, all the way to the floor. I certainly wouldn?t want to impede science.

I?m left with two options here; I can either bend down and pick it up right now, or wait until the next column I write. Wasting procrastination time would be downright lazy of me, so I drop down to the floor to pick it up. ?Ah, that Pottery Barn catalog has found its way behind my desk.? I crawl forward to retrieve it, and after a brief battle with the spider who calls the back of my desk home, I quickly retreat because the insect life down there has gotten gigantic. As I jump back to avoid the prehistoric-sized centipede, my head collides with the desktop.

Ouch. I bet you?re feeling it too. I?m feeling it ten-fold though, because it just happened. And the Pottery Barn catalog is still under there. I?m not going back until I buy a sufficiently padded helmet. Heck, I?m throwing the desk out the window. Or, strength permitting, at least moving it to the basement and adding it to the tons of other things fated for a yard-sale sometime in the distant future. They?re going to bury me with this desk. That?s just how long it will take for me to get rid of it. Maybe I should go clean up the basement instead of finishing this.

Procrastination cares for you, it treats you well, and it fulfills your desires. Sometimes though, it can leave you in the lurch.