Okay, my memory hasn't gone entirely to hell. Jen tagged me a while back to post something having to do with my workspace. Now here's the part where my memory has gone to hell. Aren't I supposed to list five of this and five of that? Like, five places where I stash the drugs, booze, and condoms? Or is it the inspy romances and foods that resemble saints? I can't remember.
Anyway, that desk above used to be my work desk. It isn't anymore, because the only space in which it fits affords no privacy whatsoever. Not in this shack, anyway. But it's a lovely old walnut office desk, and I've had it far longer than I've had any husband or boyfriend. Got it eons ago when I was in graduate school -- $25 at a garage sale -- and I've used the everlovin' snot out of it. It's my most beloved possession and has moved with me to about twelve different residences all over the upper Midwest.
Why can't my most beloved possession be a freakin' watch?
The monks? Yeah, this space also serves as my monk nook. I like monks. In fact, I have many totems. The corner where that rocking chair sits is now occupied by an empty fish tank. The rocking chair isn't mine, and I've always despised it, so I'm glad it's now rotting away in the garage. I like the fish tank a great deal, although I'd like it much more if it weren't cursed. Fish have very short life expectancies when they're in that tank. The bookcase used to belong to my mother. It's one of several I have.
Now, the foot under the door. That's the entrance to my current workroom, and the foot belongs to Buddy, the dog I eulogized in another post. You'll be happy to learn he was still alive when I took the picture. 'Cause, honestly, I'm nowhere near pervy enough to stick the paw of a dead dog under my office door -- no matter how much I might miss him.
The bookcase on which my hooker phone sits is what you see upon entering my sanctum santorum. The phone does work, but only for special incoming calls -- if you catch my drift.
Then you'd see a bulletin board loaded with crap I rarely look at, but it makes me feel secure. Then there's my shitty ancient computer and my equally shitty printer (the immeasurable shittiness of which you're well aware of by now), and a rather nicely placed window that lets me gaze out at the pines and the big ol' dog pen that used to house chickens until raccoons picked 'em all off.
Other features lay within, like a nice big bay window to the right and more bookcases and such, but I didn't feel like taking additional pictures.
See if you can spot the hedgehog!
See if you can spot Nathan! (Actually, I know you can't, because I positioned my desk chair to keep him hidden. He's shy about his role as my under-desk man. I guess most guys would be.)