Virginia Woolf wrote about the importance of a woman having a room of her own if she was ever to write. As I’m sure mine fails to meet every single one of the standards such a room should have, from this day forth it shall be known as the squat of my very own.
When I get carried away, which is often, my little squat tends to look swept away, like the above, sans glossy heels and fawkward pose of course. Its paper trail after paper trail simply because it serves as a work space as well.
Elephant in Room: No desk, tiny red stool, but no desk in squat! Yes I’ll admit stupidity on my part. And my complex about tidy spaces complicates matters even more. It makes me sick to my stomach to see little piles of paper creeping up from any one of my four corners.
Rest assured Virginia I will be moving soon, AGAIN. On the very top of my to do list? Find desk, Buy desk, …assume normality with pretty little desk and continue to publish volumes of broody feminist poetry?
It exists, I just know it. My beautiful dark mahogany wonder, you will soon be mine, all mine!