I feel like I've just gone to my first twelve step group and confessed. Yes, this is my desk, the one at home and not at work. At work, my secretary cleans up for me and I try harder to keep up appearances. I also do not share that desk with two kids who use it for computer games. I have no clue how a beach towel wound up on it. That I promptly moved.
Like most things in life, the desk and what is on it have a story. The desk I bought at a garage sale years ago. It was a nightmare moving it since Chicago stairways are very narrow. Someone previously had even sawed the middle legs short to get it through a door. It is an old fashioned typewriter desk with a table on springs that can be pulled out. I refinished the top myself years ago. I've had the desk for more than 20 years and have no idea how old it is, although it doesn't pass as an antique.
The loud curtains behind the desk came from another yard sale. They were hand sewn and fit the window size perfectly. When we first moved in to our house, we had a million windows to cover. Some were clad from Martha Stewart's line at Target. Others from wherever I could find them cheaply. This house has so many windows we may never get proper curtains for them all. My kids' rooms have the nicest curtains, sewn for them by their grandmother who has a bit of Martha Stewart in her.
A guest recently asked why I have two monitors on my desk. It is not to multitask. We recently got a new computer and I am still working on transferring files which is quite an ordeal, if you ask me. Probably I should just give up and toss it all. Or buy one of those largish storage drives. It is such a struggle keeping up with technology, isn't it?
Addendum:
As living proof of my disorganization, I've already missed the post date for Moody Monday. Sigh. I guess it really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things.
