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.