A generous observer might call my room a rat’s nest. However, I think most rats consider it beneath them to keep a pair of avocadoes and an assortment of books by Nietzsche in their nests.

Less generous observers might remind me that “cleanliness is next to godliness.” This is an insidious lie, and hardly even clever. Who takes in the world, looks at the vast array of messes–animal, plant, amoeboid–and proclaims, with a grand gesture, the insight that some great God made the world, and filled it with strife, combat, contradiction and, above all, crazy cat ladies and hoarders, but nonetheless, clearly deigned to give his creation, mostly, an overwhelming sense of organization? Indeed, as time rolls on, it seems the only rule is increasing entropy and heat leaking out of all of our mechanical processes.

So, if God subscribes to any principle, it isn’t cleanliness. Frankly, he probably has more important things to do than fuss about the alphabetization of planet Earth. And, moreover, if the world was developed with divine OCD, I imagine all the elements would be stacked in separate rows, neatly filed away and useless for breathing, reproducing and generally shuffling about from rocks to oceans to bodies. Most life relies not just on this disorganization, but even dirtiness and contamination. Sterility, of course, demands the termination of life. Cleanliness, then, earns neither the sanction of God nor primitive life. If it is good, it is on exclusively human terms, methinks.

This, anyways, is what I tell myself, when surrounded by stacks of old biology exams, semi-washed glasses and receipts for the books I bought for IHUM. But really, the truth of the matter is that cleaning is just not a priority of mine. I, like everyone, have found myself with too many opportunities and not enough time. And, like everyone, conscious or not, I perform the rationalizing calculus everyday, and estimate the utility of one option relative to another. Perhaps I can spend my free hour between class and meeting reading, or spending time with friends, or watching “The Hills.” I embrace one choice, and discard the others. I only share with a select few other perpetually disgruntled comrades, though, the opinion that there’s really no such thing as “I Don’t Have Time.”

“I Don’t Have Time,” a statement which also goes under the alias “I’m Too Busy,” is what socially apt people say when they determine not to spend time on various “good” uses of time. It’s also a white lie we tell ourselves. For the socially inept, i.e. me, the appropriate way to say this is, “I decided not to spend time on this.” In fact, like the fat kid at recess, I straight up cut that activity from the team, and/or put it so low on my list of priorities that I de facto made it impossible that I would make time for it. It’s not like God-on-high, taking a break from avoiding organizing creation with supplies from the Container Store, floated down and stole time from a select few of his favorite great apes. In fact, a little known but actually true fact is that each person has 24 hours a day.

Everyone has the time, but makes their own priorities. It’s not that it’s wrong to rank school over relationships, or term papers over reading Infinite Jest. Indeed, I’d say it’s just prudent to put working towards your career aspirations over spending time feeding ducks and watching “The Daily Show.” But it’s not that we don’t have time for the latter–it’s that we chose not to make time for the latter. And that’s why I have old magazines, wrinkled clothes and avocadoes riddled across my room.

Emily does prioritize reading her inbox, even if it’s just as cluttered as the rest of her life. Join in at [email protected].