An in-tray of one’s own

My writing corner sucks.  Everybody says so.  It is in the corner of my bedroom shoved between the bureau with the TV on it and the window with the spider webs.  My laptop sits on an old sewing machine stand and fights for space with a wire in-tray.  There is a wicker basket, the type your Nana took shopping during the War (that’s WWII) and it sits against the bureau – on it I lean my folders.  This is somewhat a haphazard arrangement, plus I can’t get both legs under the ‘desk’ at the same time and the chair is hard and uncomfortable.  I do get writing done here, although my friend reckons it is only so I can seek some comfort by standing up as soon as possible.  She may well have a point.  As many people have pointed out – it is crazy.  It’s small and untidy and considering we live in a sprawling flipping house, it’s downright idiotic.  Inevitably aspersions get cast against poor SH (Stepford Husband) because he sits in comparable glamour on his laptop in the study, when he is home, that is.  But it has nothing to do with him.  Whenever I used to sit in the study (which is supposed to be a dining room and has no door), I was bombarded and chatted with non-stop.  The children who were unable to give me even a syllable as to how their day at school was, would suddenly leap into inspired monologues as soon as my bum hit the chair in the study – and you have to listen to them, because there is a possibility that these may be the last words they volunteer to you for the next six months.  Except for the seven year old, because her monologue tends to be a litany of the people she likes in her class (everyone) and what their middle names are. And what pets they own. And what their middle names are. That you can tune out…or rather interject with “Ohh?” and “Ah haaa” with considered plausibility (yeah, yeah Bad Mother Story#95).  In other words, the need for the children to talk to you is in direct proportion to the cascade of words that is rushing like a carnival ride through your head, and one’s got to give!  So, the study doesn’t work for me.  But neither does the wee corner of my bedroom.  While it does provide an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ solution  to the children, it doesn’t promote a comfortable or stimulating environment to get the juices flowing.  I can write perfectly well here, but I’ve noticed I only write short pieces in this place…anything with an idea that needs to be sustained or followed through has to move with me to another room.  I’d love to have a room of my own to write in – preferably one with a door.  That’s not possible right now, and creating an attic will have to wait until the two older boys have had their braces put on AND taken off.  But I can’t help but wonder if it is all an excuse.  Is it all in my head?  Does the perfect writing place help you write? GASP!  Could I be procrastinating??

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