Some of us were born with the "organized" gene. These lucky souls swan through life with perfect closets, pristine desks and spotless cars with nary a wad of Starbucks napkins tucked in an unexpected pocket. They might be robots. The rest of us stumble around in a disorganized haze, thinking of the pile of books on the desk as an irrelevant task that will be tackled "someday." Someday, when our to-do list is empty. Someday, when we're not stressed to the point of breakouts.
That "someday" never happens.