One of the things I did to celebrate my first job (not this one) was to buy Real Furniture. As in all matters, inexperience tells, and so I did something remarkably stupid: I bought an extremely nice computer armoire. Not one of those do-it-yourself desks--how very graduate school!--but factory-assembled and solid oak. How, you inquire, can that be stupid? Let's put it this way: if you're a single woman, physically on the small side, it's perhaps not the best idea to buy a desk that weighs several hundred pounds. I've moved twice in the past five years, and both times it took three moving men to get the blasted thing to budge. To make matters worse, once I got into my house it took up about half the available space in the office.* Ergo, in a fit of ecumenical charity, I donated it to the local Presbyterians for their rummage sale. Meanwhile, until my new desk shows up, I'm going to have to blog from the floor. It's somewhat ironic that after making such a big deal of having a Real Desk,** I just went out and replaced it with yet another Do-It-Yourself Desk. Perhaps I'm regressing. (Either that, or it's because I still owe the roofer another $2300 for the roof he hasn't been able to replace yet.)
*--Which, incidentally, was originally the master bedroom. I can only say that master bedrooms now aren't what they used to be, and a good thing, too.
**--Not, however, that I'm ever going to get of my baby, which is a big rolltop desk--my U of C graduation present. Rolltops are just the niftiest desks, aren't they? All the neat little drawers, and cubby holes, and secret compartments...
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