Okay, not all my furniture. But after two years of it driving me crazy to have my back to the room when I sat at my desk, I literally stood there with my cup of coffee yesterday morning and was like, I could move the couch over, get rid of that massive hutch thing, and turn the desk perpendicular to the wall. Done and done.
I may have been procrastinating work. But I do like this about a hundred times better.
Once I got it out in the middle of the room (something that has to be done if you’re going to turn a honking big piece of furniture around, I laid down on it, and Mom looked down from upstairs (I keep her in the attic, like Mrs. Rochester) and said, that thing is exactly as long as you are. Which is not really that impressive. Also, what she may actually have said was more like, “What God’s name are you doing down there?” Then she said the desk thing.
This is literally one third of the desk I used to have in the old house, and though it took up a good bit of my old study, there were also three bookcases and a small sofa (and large ottoman) in there. And it was one of the smaller rooms in the house. (For those of you who tuned in during the last two years, I downsized my life drastically in 2013, from a big house with two attics and a giant garage to a small townhouse with no attics and no garage. It did come with a mom, in case you were wondering what that Mrs. Rochester business was about.)
On one hand, it seems impossible I’ve lived in this place for two years. (For one thing, there’s still some boxes I haven’t unpacked. Or as I like to call them, “my nightstand.”) On the other, my memories of the old house are fuzzy and oddly foreign, like it’s a place I visited once. The brain is weird.
Now, it’s back to work. Or possibly I’ll keep looking on Pinterest for my perfect office.