Today, I tried to clean off my writing space. I made this writing space for myself instead of having a full dining room. I bought this desk for 10 bucks a few years ago. I got a printer for my 25th birthday. I was set. Look at that lamp, dude. That lamp was sixty bucks, and I bought it with my first real grown-up paycheck.
I have filled this desk with knick-knacks to inspire me. I have all of my old AWP lanyards, the picture of my husband and me in England next to the picture of my parents in England, copies of my books, reference pictures, journals, CDs, cute little candle holders, a Stonecoast mug ... I even have stuffed animals over here! Look at that little raccoon chillin' with BB-8. Dora Goss and Nancy Holder picked him out for me when I got the Erin Underwood Award last semester.
But I barely sit over here. This is the first time since summer I've used this desk.
I'm usually in a Panera. Or I'm on the couch. Or I'm on the bed. And I'll let you know why. I'm going to be very frank about this.
I am a well-endowed woman. And sitting up straight at a desk sucks.
"Then lean back," you say in an unironic tone.
Yes, well, you see, there comes the next part. The chair is too tall or too short for the desk, and the desk is a die-hard upright that doesn't change shape magically.
"Then get a better chair," you push onwards.
That's cute. I would. Except this was my splurge back when I had a full-time Muggle job and tried to do something nice for myself. This chair cost me 300 dollars.
So that means even after this chair tore my MCL and this chair hurt my back and I'm pretty sure this chair is haunted because we were in the middle of packing it up into my car when my father called to tell me my grandmother was dying and dying quick and could we come to the hospital well yes we could but after we packed this big-ass 300-dollar chair into the back of a Plymouth ... I still have not sold or replaced this chair.
It is highly uncomfortable to work in the space I spent so much time and money putting together. But that's how writing spaces work, like a pair of shoes that feel great in the store, but then you take one step outside and you think, "Dear GOD what have I done?"
I wonder to myself: could I get another desk? Could I pick a couple of knick-knacks and get rid of the rest? Could I could I could I? Perhaps we could move the desk to face the wall so I can have more reference images in front of me. Maybe we can move the bed out here and I could use the bedroom.
All of this said, I am not very productive here in my little cold corner of haunted chairs and too-high cheap but gigantic oak desks. And who here needs a 300-dollar chair?
What is this?
Dawson is an editor and writer and MFA student at Stonecoast. She writes stuff.