An Office of Her Own

Well- sort of.

For the last forever - basically since I started writing seriously, my office has been my computer, tucked into the back corner of whatever random room happens to have the most leftover space. Usually the guest room/kids' play room. With the room serving three (or more) purposes, you might imagine my office space would be small.

You have no idea.

Up until yesterday my computer was only accessible by fighting my way the length of a long room piled to hip high (or higher) with stuff. The guests couldn't even stay in it because the beds were piled. I regularly fell into things as I missed my footing slogging across. There was yarn and fiber, books, toys, all of our old or spare computer stuff, they boys' old school stuff, the last six boxes remaining from our move, even an old unused futon (in addition to the beds), all crammed into this one room. I was lucky there was enough room to sit at the computer, there was no way I could keep track of my dictionary, thesaurus, or any hard copy.

In short, it was a pathetic mess. Until yesterday.

S and I took the whole day. We sorted, we tossed, we stored, we unclogged the vacuum cleaner six times. Today we are putting in a bookcase.

The room is still our guest room, but the kids' toys have been banished to their own room, the last moving boxes have been dealt with, and there's acually room in here for me to sit down and type without debilitating claustrophobia setting in.

Life is good.