A Space To Write


I might have mentioned my office became a nursery.

I might not have mentioned I have a new space to write.

The tiniest desk I could find.

Can you imagine me? Running through Ikea aisles with a baby stroller, determined to find the one and only desk to fit in the one and only available (25 inch) space in our apartment?

But I found it.

And so I sat, late into a raucous Friday night, with the unassembled pieces, a bag full of screws, and the wordless directions from Scandinavian furniture whizzes, and felt very serious.

I would put together this desk.

I would sit at it in the moonlight.

I would become someone.

I got a lamp. A striped seat cover. I stacked the old notepads. And now it’s mine.

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