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.