How to organize the cables under my desk?

There’s a mess of cables under my desk; it looks like a bowl of spaghetti, spattered on the floor, intertwined together in no particular order. Does anyone know the neatest way to organize this? It’s there every time I sit at my desk, the cables surrounding me like snakes circling my feet. I feel like it brings about a bit of anxiety, as if one of the cables will lunge at me and encircle my throat, or swallow me whole like a python, or give me a venomous bite like a rattlesnake. On the subject, do you ever feel like you’re plugged into an ever-extending cable? Like life is being streamed into you in dull electrical currents? That one wrong move will turn the lights of? Do you ever notice you’re always plugged into something?

This morning I rode my exercise bike, the one that you must plug in so the screen can show your statistics. The cycling instructor barked instructions from the screen. “Can you see it? The undulating hills?” He asked as we moved into a climb. The undulating hills, undulating. It had a nice sound to it. What else undulates… I am undulating with the imaginary hill. There is a song playing in the background by the band Forth Wanderers, whose 2025 album I quite liked. 7 months, 7 months, goes the singer, undulating through the rhythms. The day will be full of undulations. I will finish my bike ride in a vibrant mood, having undulated my state of being upwards. Then I will enter the offer and that will dissipate – mood undulates downward. Then I will leave the office at the edge of sunset and I’m undulating upward again. And then it will all start again, the endless cable tugging me through the undulating days.

The instructor barks out a command: “Switch to position 2, up, up, up.” I stand and move my hands to the outside of the handlebars. Every few minutes he tells me to change to position 1 or position 2. Is that what Mr. Instructor is like in bed? Huffing and puffing and yelling out positions alongside encouragement (“You’re almost there! Keep going! Don’t stop now!”)? Somewhere, somebody is having sex with a cycling instructor and experiencing those peculiarities and having the time of their life.

And why do I bike in the mornings with such ferventness? For my health, of course, or maybe to feel a little superiority amongst the common folk. “I bet he didn’t ride an exercise bike at 6am. She didn’t. He didn’t either. But I did.” One little ego boost to fuel the day. An upward undulation. The instructor calls out another position change. I notice the smudge on my glasses then – that infinitely spawning smudge, no matter how often I wipe my glasses, it will reappear like an uncurable tumor. What if I get Lasik? I wouldn’t have to wear glasses, but who knows, strange complications happen with that surgery. Maybe I’ll wake up and see the smudge permanently embedded into my cornea.

The bike ride is almost over. I see my bass guitar in the corner; headphones plugged in and spilling on the floor (another mess of cables). I recall the notes on the fretboard, E string. 9th fret, C-sharp, D-flat (I think. I hope I’m right). I’m practicing this because I read an article that says you should practice bass guitar even when you’re not holding it.

My bed is right next to my bass guitar, a mess of blankets. Maybe when I sleep, I should have my bass on the bed next to me. There’s enough room, and perhaps it’s presence will seep into my dreams, and I can practice there too – that’s at least 6 hours (7, on a good day) of extra practice, assuming I practice for the full duration of a sleep session, and only practice, and not engage in any of the meandering activities that seem to make up my dreams. If only. The bike ride ends without fanfare. I check the fitness watch always strapped to me. Apparently, I’ve burned 90 calories. That’s enough to enjoy four jolly ranchers without guilt. The sun is rising outside and sneaking in through the closed blinds. I’m ready to start the day.