Behold, my new desk! I bought it at an antique shop and probably overpaid for it in terms of its market value, but considering I've been searching for the Perfect Writing Desk (rolltop, not too big, lots of cute cubbies and drawers), I paid a perfectly reasonable amount. Note the beauty of the wood grain. Note the perfect drawers which glide effortlessly. Note the organized chaos. This desk begs me to come sit at it.
The desk is snuggled into the perfect nook of the bedroom. The window overlooks cherry & maple branches in the front yard. Right now they are bare and backdropped by the blue sky bouncing chubby clouds on its knee.
The walls are plastered with inspirational quotes, letters of acceptance, drawings from my kids, a large poster made by loved ones entitled "This is your So-Called Life" filled with pictures of family & friends from the last 40 years of my life. These are the things that motivate me.
A stuffed bookshelf sits at my right elbow. After moving the desk in, I was overcome by a compulsion to reorganize; my shelf is now a true personal library - kids' books on one shelf and adult novels on another, both arranged in alphabetical order of author's last name, non-fiction arranged by Dewey Decimal number, writing reference books and journals on another shelf, dictionaries on the bottom. Systematized bliss!
I need this space, this tiny oasis in a busy household. My family knows that the moment I sit down in the chair, I am in another world. This desk transports me out of my tiny writing nook; it is my time machine, my wormhole, my Star Trekian teleporter. Call it feng shui, but I have a difficult time sitting down to write in a space that is cluttered and disorganized. I can't focus if something needs to be tidied up in my surroundings. Organization calms my brain, puts me in my happy place. That is why I love libraries; they are a sanctuary of calm, orderly thought. And now I feel as though I have a little library refuge in my own home.