awfully verbose.

I got a desk last night. My mom's been storing her furniture at our place, and included in said furniture is this beautiful, brand new, sleek and pleasing desk that is also incredibly huge. Due to the hugeness of the desk, and the sad smallness of our apartment, we opted to leave the desk disassembled and store it in a closet. However, I have been having personal space issues lately (why can't you all leave me alone and let me commune with the internet! why must I spread my schoolwork around me on the floor just because there is no room on our puny computer desk! why don't I own any of the space for which I pay! why!), and around 9:00 last night I reached critical mass and exploded all over the place in a gooey red spatter of irritation demanded my own desk.

At first, there was much head-scratching and dithering. Then there was much puzzled bemusement and drawing of layouts for our living room in which the desk might conceivably fit without displacing a living resident. Then came the screaming and demanding and chaining myself to the computer. What do we want? A BIGGER DESK! When do we want it? IMMEDIATELY IF NOT SOONER! Michael hauled the desk's components out of the closet, I took charge of the decision-making and order-giving, et voila: my own very nice, very sexy, very spacious desk. (Well, my temporarily borrowed very nice, very sexy, very spacious desk.)

Sitting at the desk is a revelation. It wraps around a corner of the living room, and I have my school stuff all set up on one wing, my computer & accessories of same set up on the strangely angled middle portion, and! There is another whole wing on which I can do the reading and the writing and the fiddling with colored pens and Post-its! I am soothed. I am lulled. There is nothing I hate more than disorganization when it comes to work, school, or random internet wanderings (perhaps a contradiction is implied there), and this desk has solved all of my problems in one magical wooden swoop. There is room for the cats' bed under my desk, so that my furry little parasites can curl up cozily at my feet. There is room for the Nuremberg Rallies under my desk, in case the cats get boring.

I was very concerned that this desk would upset the fragile balance in our already-cluttered living room, causing me to collapse in claustrophobic agony, but this is not the case. The addition of the desk (and concurrent rearrangement of other furniture) has actually opened up the room. Suddenly, our walkways are suitably sized for fully grown adults. Suddenly, there is a Clutter-Free Zone in our communal area. Suddenly, there are daisies growing from my carpet and — can it be? Yes, my very fat cats are gamboling through the sunshine beaming mysteriously from the ceiling! (Suddenly, I feel that blotter acid is perhaps best suited to raves and not home usage.)

Still, it's a very nice desk. And it is all mine. (You couldn't just have said that and skipped the long part?) (No.)


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