I think I just rambled

grave deskisions

I’ve been thinking about desks for a while. Flirting with an idea but never thinking about it seriously. (Ness, I can hear you ask. Are you really going to kick off the new year with a post about a DESK. The answer is yes. Yes, I am.)

HOW TO COPE WITH THE DAWN OF A NEW DESK by A Dedicated Writer and Bookworm

STEP ONE: PLANNED IMPULSIVENESS

If the impulse to google ‘desks’ seizes you one day, and your thumb hovers over the tempting ‘buy now’ button, it is important to stop – think about what you are doing. Make sure that the measurements are correct.

Grab a tape that is older than you (vital!) and measure your current desk, which is not actually a desk but a table. A winged table. (That you should decide to give up such a wonder says something about you. Perhaps it is unflattering, perhaps it is not. Either way, you don’t give it a thought. You are measuring.)

Once you’ve measured (and thought ‘huh that’s a bit taller than my current desk-winged-creature but what could possibly go wrong?’*) hit purchase and enter your details in.

You receive a confirmation email. Life is glorious.

*this will not have a pay off and the sense of foreboding will lead to nowhere. Life is cruel like that.

STEP TWO: IMPATIENTLY WAIT

Have a late night crisis about time and how while you want to have a new desk (and have told all your colleagues multiple times about how very excited you are) and wish for it’s arrival date to hasten! … it will eventually happen. Time is a stream and then will inevitably become now.

This is deep.

You are impressed with yourself.

STEP THREE: THE BLESSED MOMENT HAS DAWNED!

IT IS HEAVING WITH POTENTIAL.

Your desk has arrived. You hurry home. You take selfies with your desk. You get your Mum to take pictures of you and your desk (which is flat packed and is in an unassuming cardboard box. Never mind that, you see potential.)

You clear your room, ready to start. It shouldn’t be too hard.

… it is.

All visions of you being a strong and capable and mature adult wither in front of THE MANUAL. It looks like Russian. You can’t read Russian. (But you can say ‘vodka’ and ‘nyet’ which is, in the grand scale of things, not your greatest accomplishment.)

DEAD DREAMS. THE DEADEST.

You get everything out of the box. You put sticky notes on different boards and pieces of wood. Some fall off, like dead dreams and autumn leaves. You stare at them very hard. You look back at THE MANUAL.

You summon help.

STEP FOUR: SIT AND YOUR DESK AND MARVEL

The cavalry are glorious and also members of your family which is wonderful (there are heavy hints about purchasing coffee as a thank you. You should do this.)

And then it is done. The job is complete. The room is tidied and your Desk Of Dreams Where Worlds Will Be Birthed sits there neatly … waiting for you to fill the drawers and tap out words.

It was worth it, you decide. And then you sit down and write about desks – those new worlds can wait to be birthed another day.

before …
… after