To Clear a Mountain

I sat in dismay upon my carpeted bedroom floor looking up grimly at my mountainous desk. I vainly hoped that the evil little gremlins, who had once stolen my Ipod and flash drive, would magically show their hidden faces and 'steal' my mountain of junk that had accumulated upon my desk. Unfortunately it was my theory that the gremlins had taken up home within my junk mountain and therefor would not bother helping me clear their home. So with a sigh I push away my childish ideals and lean forward just enough so that my fingers just tap the grey power button of my stereo that had now taken up residency under my desk.
As the stereo began to 'read' whatever CD I had played last I analyzed the smaller mountain that had begun to form on top of my stereo. This mountain was much less intimidating than the one upon my desk, more of a hill or mound rather than a real mountain that reached the clouds. As I began to go over my strategy for conquering the stereo mountain my music finally began to play it's soothing melodies. The music filled the air with soft beats of a drum, strums of a guitar, taps of piano keys, and a soothing voice that told stories in a melancholy tune.
I pulled myself under my desk and to the stereo, tactfully avoiding hitting my head on the wood of the desk. I pulled the chaotic mess into my lap, hoping the sound wouldn't cause an avalanche from the desk mountain now above and cave me in.
With the mini mountain now in my lap, somehow managing to fit without over flowing over on the floor, I began to sort through all my empty and broken CD cases, the CDs themselves now safe in my soon to be exploding CD case, that had also been stolen by the Gremlins. I picked out all the different CD cases and put them in a separate somewhat smaller pile to my right to later be thrown into the blue recycling bin.
As I continue to shift through the mound I throw away old school papers and and am left with more solid and over a pound items. On top of my soon to be gone pile was one of my many yet to be read books. The thousand page paperback book sat heavy in my lap as I flipped through the first could of pages to find my clear, almost invisible, book mark that was sitting, hidden, amongst the small print. As I began to read, yet again, I found myself once again overpowered by my lack of interest in trains to read anymore of Ayn Rand's great novel, 'Atlas Shrugged'. I slowly close the book, lost in Ayn Rand's powering words, and place it aside to later be placed on my already over crowded bookshelf and went back to my depleted mountain.
The last thing laying in my now empty lap was my black spiral notebook that had been so carelessly placed on my stereo only to be buried by a mountain. The notebook was full of similar beginnings that I was constantly re-writing. The story brought back memories of when I had written it and where I had planned to take the story. I slowly pulled out the clear, plastic drawer to my right and carefully placed the note book in the already overcrowded drawer.
With a some what boosted ego I got out from under my desk and came eye to eye with the foot of the most horrid mountain I could ever face. Books were scattered between school papers and journals and more papers. Towers of stacked 'things' seemed to touch my white ceiling and stood tall over me from the ground. The papers seemed to cover my desk like grass covers the Earth or like lava flowing from a volcano.
As the mountain seemed to grow my confidence seemed to shrink, or to be more precise my laziness grew. My goal had truly only been to 'face' a mountain, so what was the problem if the mountain I actually did face was smaller than what I may have originally intended? I would just save the real mountain for another day, and maybe then I would get to use a bull dosser on it.