My office, oh my office. What I thought it would be when we moved here and I began my life as a work-at-home mommy:
Sanctuary, intellectual and otherwise
Professional space in which to excel
Source of inspiration
Containing a comfy chair, a footstool, and a good reading lamp
Smelling of hydrangea or iris or something crisp and fresh and professional and intellectual and calm and organized and the pay-off for years of working with stupid mean boys with haircuts that cost more than my monthly rent and having to hear things like "we will engage the anchor-link technology" and "it's hard to get the inertia going and keep it going" and just sit there trying to look smart and pretty and not smirk AND GOD.
Oh my office. Without moving my head, this is what I see. This is just the desk. Part of the desk.
Japanese masking tape. Because this was the year I would get, you know, all craftsy for Christmas.
Some kind of decorative bowl that I purchased thinking it would be great to float a single lily in. Currently inside: a partially completed necklace for one of Kid's friends (because this year I would get. . . . .) and half a corn chip.
When I need to escape to my real life on the Cote d'Azur, I spritz some grapefruit-y Hesperides. I get through about a quart every month.
Gramma's silver-plate creamer. Inside: a nerf bullet and two St. Benedict medals. No idea.
Remaining boozy cherries from Bernard Callebaut. I too would like to have marinated in Kirsch for five months. It needed to be said.
Going to read this. Yep. Any day now.
Ordered this movie from zip.ca in August. Going to watch it. Any day now.
Wall hydrangea decals! Nothing says "professional writer" like vinyl wall art.
Two pens and a screwdriver.
I did not stage this: a mood ring, a postcard from the Cote d'Azur and a stamp from Dubai celebrating the 1964 World's Fair.
And the reason I sit here all day writing lies about software: