I have three desks!
One of my desks is really just a lap desk. Claus gave it to me when he left for Berlin last year, and I suppose this thing is not really a desk. It’s a tiny beanbag with a piece of wood stuck on it. But it does the job. I’m using right now, in fact. Yes, I think it counts as a desk, so let’s call this beanbag thing from a man who broke my heart Desk No. 1.*
Desk No. 2 is a for-real-real desk that lives in the hallway. There’s a wide hallway in my condo between the entryway and the main room. When I moved in, I knew I had to do something with the space, but it took some thought. The hallway isn’t wide enough to like, make into a third bedroom, but I soon realized it would makes a terrific workspace if shelves could be built-in. So that’s what I did, thus, Desk No. 2 is part of a custom-built wall of bookshelves and workspace. Groovy.
Desk No. 3 is a table by the window. With a lamp. And a tray for bills and things.
What in the world does a girl need with three desks? Variety! Yes, I use all my desks because I have needs. Sometimes, I find I write schoolwork better at Desk No. 3, there at the window. I never write blog posts there, though; it’s just never seemed like the place where I should be for this part of my day. I do a good deal of writing for Quiltfolk at Desk No. 2 — but I whipped most of the piece about Joan Flasch sitting right here with the beanbag.
If you count my space at the F Newsmagazine office, I have four desks. If you count how sometimes I eat chips and do stuff at the table where I eat chips, I have five desks.
Is it too many? I don’t think it is, but it strange to find oneself saying, “I have three desks!” It could be worse. What if I said I had five recliners? Five blenders? Five beds?