One of my resolutions for 2012 is to redo the room euphemistically called “my office.” I do work in here, many hours a day. But the current state of the room merits a more appropriate title: “Crazy Hoarder’s Space” or “Repository for Everyone’s Junk.”
I’m replacing the ratty window blinds with shutters, so that I can let some light in. The man from the shutter company just came to take the measurements as well as a check for what seems like a shocking amount of money, but I’m on a tear now. Next will be to paint over the walls, now an unfortunate celery color, and cover them with something more soothing.
This isn’t a large room, but along with running a business in here, the room serves as the landing spot for everything, it seems. Anything that no one else in the family wants to store but can’t quite get rid of gets dropped off in here: employment, tax, and medical records, discarded costumes and art supplies, warranties for every appliance and toy ever purchased, bills, CDs, candles, pencil stubs, holy cards, programs from LA Philharmonic performances and funerals, you name it. In sifting through desk drawers, closet shelves, and file cabinets to try to purge some of this detritus, I’ve come across old photos and letters, and quaint artifacts such as a sheaf of carbon paper and a steno pad!
Sometimes when asked what I do for a living, I’m tempted to say, “I type shit up for people,” because saying “I’m a writer” seems too grandiose a description. I’ve long since learned that moving across the country or to another continent doesn’t change anything, so I should know that metaphorically changing the wallpaper in the office won’t make me a different kind of writer, or a more important or successful one.
But for this year, I’ve decided that writing in a jumbled, messy room won’t do anymore. If you need to make a carbon copy of something, let me know. But anyone wanting to stash some unwanted roadmap, Dodger bobblehead, or rarely played flute, keep out!