I really have a desk.
For several years, the desk was buried under stacks of paper, junk from who-knows-where, flotsam and jetsam, scraps of notes for songs I never wrote, you name it. Essentially, I had nowhere to go to write.
For my first book, Empty Seats, I went to the local library to get away from it all and did the bulk of the writing surrounded by books and good thoughts to finish the book. The great Guilderland Library has been closed since March 2020 and it’s now July 2021. Still nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
It was time to act. I had to find my desk. An actual place to put my laptop. A place where I could sit and think. A pseudo seat at the library.
Things were so bad that I had to hire a professional organizer to come to the house. Yes, I had to pay someone so that I could convince my husband to stop opening the door to this room in which I sit and throwing in every piece of junk he didn’t know what to do with, every stray cardboard box, every memento he wanted to keep and then closing the door behind him. When the professional organizer attempted to enter the room, she assured me she’d seen worse, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better.
After the first six hours, we were actually making progress. We threw away or donated what seemed like tons of stuff (don’t tell the husband–he won’t even miss the stuff we threw or gave away). We had so much stationery and greeting cards that I know, at the age of 72-plus, I’ll never be able to send out. I simply don’t have that many friends! I have three full “bag o’bags”–that is, bags filled with bags that we can take to the grocery store or other places so that we don’t have to pay a bag charge! THREE of them! Some of them have sentimental value, such as a few from the Folk Alliance International or the one with Mookie Betts (former Red Sox, now with the Dodgers, but my granddaughter’s favorite baseball player), but most are just, well, shopping bags.
She came back for six more hours. We didn’t get everything done. I still have a lot of work to do in this room. It will be a challenge not to let it get back to its former scrap heap self (are you listening, Bill Fischer?), but I still need a place to write if I’m ever going to get that second book finished. Somehow, going back to sitting on the bed with the laptop sitting on a crocheted dachshund wasn’t exactly an inspiration.
This desk, though…I think I’ve got it. The name tag I had on my desk from my office prior to retirement is staring me in the face. I met every deadline I faced when I got a paycheck. I had a desk then. I have one now.