A Space of My Own

Space is like money, the more you have the more you use. We live in what most North Americans would consider to be a small space, all 1,060 square feet of it. We don’t really need a larger home for the three of us, though I certainly wouldn’t turn one down if offered. With our son a mere year or two away from leaving the nest to pursue his own goals, relocating just doesn’t make sense for us right now. 

That being said, I covet homes with just two extra rooms. One is a dedicated workout room where all the equipment and machines could be hidden behind a door that closes. The other, and probably my most desired space, is an office all my own. A place where I can organize my book stack, my notes, a bulletin board filled with the plot of my current work in progress. Even a white board covered in all the potential new writing projects that currently wander about my brain. If those ideas had a space to live on a white board, perhaps my brain would be a little more free and organized too.

A Space of My Own

This past week, what began as an exceptionally generous and thoughtful 25th anniversary gift turned into something even greater. It was not lost on me that for our silver anniversary my husband presented me with a silver MacBook Pro. It isn’t diamonds but it is still shiny and most certainly a direct path to this writer’s heart. 

With MacBook in hand, I wandered aimlessly around the house searching for a suitable place to put it. The tiny space in a corner of the kitchen carved out for the home computer, and my previous writing spot, isn’t set up for another computer without the hassle of moving things around on a daily basis.

I must admit there actually is a very large desk with cupboards and such sitting in the basement. The basement however is cold, dark, damp, and two stories below the only washroom in the house. So, as you can imagine, the many cups of tea I was drinking to stay warm in the basement equaled multiple trips up the stairs in search of the washroom. Not an ideal or time effective situation for a writer.

Having voiced my concern over where my new MacBook would safely call home, all the while threatening anyone who dared eat or drink near my new baby, my husband and resident problem solver, set to work. With the simple, and I mean simple, move of one piece of furniture, there was suddenly a space for a desk all my own. A trip to IKEA, thank God for IKEA, granted me a slim but suitable little desk and a matching shelving unit for my many research materials.

So today, here I sit at my new desk with my new MacBook, pleased as punch that I truly have a space to call my own. I have high expectations of this space. I will be more productive. Words will flow effortlessly to my fingertips. I will no longer be distracted by dirty dishes or anyone seeking an afternoon snack. So, off I go to embrace the day and the looming deadline for book number 3 in a space all my own.

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