Einstein and I

Saw a picture of Albert Einstein’s desk on the day he died. My desks, since grammar school, have always looked like that desk. My eighth grade nun assigned Angeline Lapka, a classmate, the unwanted job of straightening out my desk, inside and top, every week. She, the nun, had no clue she might be interfering with genius at work! Wish I had had the guts, then, to say, “It ain’t drawing flies, Sister, leave it be“.

It’s my considered opinion that people with neat desks have a pathological preference for appearance over substance; they’re psychological kin to the stereotypical dumb blond.


About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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One Response to Einstein and I

  1. PennyD says:

    Oh, here, here. My desks, both writing/computer and my art desk/room looks like the results from a small earthquake. Can never find anything, but then who cares. Something new will come up . . . or out.


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