I need a desk. Not my work desk in the basement, but a writing desk with an above ground view. I’m sitting in my chair by the front window, as I do every morning after I eat breakfast. I’ve got a wooden lap board on my knees and a fat cat laying on my left arm while I try to type.
Spread all around me are books and notebooks. On the pouf at my feet are two hardcover size A5 journals — one black and ruled, one teal and dotted — and my larger softcover size B4 composition journal. Why so many? I do not know. I like notebooks. Especially these Leuchtturms that are such a pleasure to write in with fountain pens. I wish I had even smaller ones to carry in my pocket or my purse.
On the side table next to me are my water bottle, my daughter-made pink coffee mug, my all-purpose spectacles (while I wear wear my granny computer glasses), and multiple books in untidy piles. My foot is falling asleep underneath me. I can’t stretch out because of the cat and because I’ve covered all the surfaces around me with my crap. My left shoulder hurts, too. See again, cat. This chair, which isn’t ergonomically great for writing, does not help with my foot or my shoulder. But the chair is next to the window, and the natural light and view of the world trump everything else.
The world outside is a muted blue gray. The sun isn’t up yet, but it’s coming. The cloud bellies are fuchsia.
I live for mornings. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my favorite weekdays because I don’t swim. I get up early as if I were swimming, and then I have oodles of time to myself before I start my work day. After breakfast this morning, I sat with my coffee and a poetry book and read before I started writing. When I looked at the clock and saw 6:44, I was giddy because I still had over an hour until I’d log in for work. I can journal and blog with that kind of time.
I daydreamed this morning about a proper desk in a space where I want to be (ie, not in the basement or in a non-ergonomic chair). Our daughter’s room has a perfect window. Her leaving is too fresh to think about rearranging her room, though. I don’t know when any of us will be ready for that.
Butterfly Mind 