As many passers-by have commented, my cubicle has an impressive amount of paper in it. Reams of printed matter tower high and teeter over the edges of my desk. If one isn’t careful and moves too quickly, the breeze can start a snowstorm of pages. It’s quite a beautiful thing to behold. Like a snow globe, but with bulleted lists and diagrams.
You may ask me, then, how I stay organized. The secret is this: I let the sheets accumulate until nobody can remember why they were printed in the first place. I then neatly file those ones into the pile on the floor. Once that pile is tall enough to pose a hazard to navigation, I slip them into the recycle bin, from which they’ll be shredded, pulped, re-milled into copy paper, and the entire process will start anew.
In this way, I like to think that here in my cubicle is a small part of the greater mysteries of the cycle of life.
