Finding the Dust in All That Clutter

It’s just “speck”-ulation.

What can I say? I love Lucy Dan’s prompts. She’s a gifted writer and has often ignited a spark in me that inspired a story or a poem. For example, when she spoke about the gazillion mugs she owns, it reminded me of my collection. Then, she urged readers to focus on a desk piece that is meaningful to them, noting a “tiny fluffball” or a “little doodle” — no item was too small.

As I looked around my workspace, there was nothing significant that jumped out at me. Nothing that is uniquely precious or shouts out to the world, its mine and mine alone. Why? Because my desk is cluttered and objects are hard to find. My stuff lies masked amidst the chaos. It celebrates my unquiet mind.

And then it hit me. What’s important on my desk is my clutter. The mess, in its entirety, tells the tale of who I am.

The used TV converter battery, half-eaten raisin box, empty hanger, and old pay stubs reside upon the tabletop. Each had its place of significance — now strewn haphazardly around.

There’s been no time to clean, only time to create stories. At least that’s the excuse I’ve told myself, as every cluttered item atop my desk has found its cozy home.

The day I clean it will be when I feel lost and won’t find anything. My brain works like that. So I thrive among the disorder. But not to worry, whenever I clean, it doesn’t stay tidy long. Once there’s an empty spot, cherished non-essential things replace it. My desk’s so wonderfully disorganized. You orderly folks would cringe.

When Lucy asked what was on my desk, I guessed it was to learn more about me, the writer, who spends countless hours using this space. As I embrace my clutter, I celebrate the broken pencil lead, the crumpled napkin, the mounds of paperwork, and the empty pill bottle.

You never know if one day I will need them — even if only to inspire a story.

And then I see it. Among the light coating of dust surrounding the base of my favourite mug, I notice a speck. Its image is barely visible, but I’m sure I see an eye, and it’s winking at me.

I promise to clear the clutter one day, mom, but don’t expect it anytime soon because, as it’s said, “[you] come from dust, and you’ll return to dust, so that’s why I never dust. It could be someone I know.”