Let me paint you a picture. My desk. A glorious, sprawling testament to good intentions. A letter that needed following up. A bill that needed querying. A notebook with something important written in it — I just couldn’t remember what. Three pens (one working, another that leaves blobs when I write, so I avoid using it). A packet of half-eaten Polo mints. Post-it notes stuck to other post-it notes. And four piles of paperwork, each one representing a future version of me who was definitely going to deal with it. Sitting down to actually use the desk involved a small archaeological dig – consolidating the four piles into one tall…