There is a very specific moment that happens every single time I try to be a functional adult. I sit down at my desk, crack my knuckles, open whatever task is screaming the loudest, and prepare to get shit done. And then, like clockwork, my brain leans in with the enthusiasm of a toddler on sugar and whispers, “Hey… what if we reorganize the entire office instead?”
It is honestly impressive how fast the derailment happens.
I’ll open my laptop with pure, noble intention. A document. A spreadsheet. A Discord message. I’ll be three keystrokes in when my eyes flicker to something absolutely irrelevant: a crooked sticker on my notebook, a pen that’s in the wrong cup, a stack of papers that has existed just fine for six weeks but suddenly is offensive to my spirit. And once that switch flips? Game over. The task is dead. The mission is gone. The ADHD/OCD gremlin has taken the wheel and is now barreling toward a completely unnecessary Home Edit marathon.
Suddenly I’m pulling everything off shelves, reorganizing drawers, wiping down surfaces that did nothing wrong, and apparently auditioning for a minimalist lifestyle I have no interest in committing to. Meanwhile, my actual work sits open and abandoned, cursor blinking like it’s judging me from across the room.
The worst part? There is always a reason my brain decides this is the moment for a full-scale renovation. It will convince me that I can’t possibly concentrate until the desk is perfect. That the stickers must be in alphabetical order. That the keyboard cable is ruining my life. That the ferrets will never respect me unless my workspace is immaculate. Anything to justify the immediate urge to avoid the task I meant to do.
And what’s wild is that sometimes the “rearranging” spirals into full-blown construction. I have moved furniture. I have rearranged my entire office layout. I have built shelves. I have reconfigured lighting. I have demolished any chance of productivity because I decided, in that exact moment, that I cannot possibly begin until everything is aesthetically perfect.
The chaos doesn’t stop at the physical space, either. Digital? Same thing. I’ll go to answer one email, then suddenly I’m creating folder hierarchies like a cyber librarian possessed. I’ll start a simple task and end up redesigning my desktop, deleting 4,000 old screenshots, reorganizing my planner, and updating my Traveler’s Notebook inserts because apparently that is what will make me functional.
Spoiler: it never does.
But in the moment, it feels like the only possible solution. My brain passionately believes that I cannot begin until every molecule in my radius is aligned. And I fall for it every time because it feels productive. It feels like momentum. It feels like doing something. But it’s really just my executive dysfunction cosplaying as a Type A girly for fifteen minutes before abandoning me in another mess to clean up.
There’s also the emotional layer. The quiet, annoying truth that sometimes reorganizing things is easier than facing the task itself. Because letting myself sit down and do the work requires focus, vulnerability, energy, and the belief that I’m capable. Rearranging a drawer? Zero emotional risk. No stakes. Just vibes. Chaos vibes, but still vibes.
It’s the illusion of progress replacing the terror of starting. And oh, do I love a good illusion.
But sometimes, sometimes, the rearranging actually helps. Because while I know damn well it’s avoidance, there’s also a weird grounding in it. Touching things. Resetting the space. Creating order in the room so my brain can feel slightly less feral. Sometimes I finish the task afterward. Sometimes.
Mostly, though, I just end up with a beautifully arranged desk and a to-do list that hasn’t budged.
And you know what? I’m learning to stop beating myself up for it. Yes, it’s inconvenient. Yes, it’s absurd. Yes, it’s absolutely classic neurodivergent chaos. But it’s also part of how my brain tries to cope with the pressure to perform perfectly every time I sit down. It’s trying to help, even if its methods are… questionable.
And honestly? My space looks damn good when I’m done. Even if my work hasn’t begun.
