A Desk Personified
Because I feel a little "stuck" in my brain and words aren't really coming well in any form or fashion I thought I might try to write because more often than not my fingers seem to function better than my mouth. I've pulled out this book— link that explains that here and I've allowed the book to fall open to a page and out of three choices, the least awkward one is, believe it or not, "What Your Desk Thinks About at Night".
I actually really like my desk. I have one in the laundry room that I try to do all the yucky stuff like paperwork. That word covers a lot of jobs. Some is actual paper and some is virtual paper via the amazing world wide web. Even though I like the convenience of filling out forms and just clicking to send them where they need to go, I really don't like signing my name using a mouse. That may be more tedious than getting out the envelope and stamps.
And then I have my happy desk. It used to to be the schoolroom desk/table but now it's mine. All mine. It's still in what we call the schoolroom/guest room —thanks to Jeff's handy skills in making a Murphy Bed— and here is where I get to do things I really love.
So what in the world would my desk think at night?
If she really wants to accomplish something tomorrow, she needs to leave her phone somewhere else.
I go to sleep looking forward to the best part of her sitting down with me which is usually her bringing in a good smelling cup of coffee. I also like that it's warm. And I am grateful she wipes up whatever she may spill. I'm white and I show mess. I like to be clean.
The weight of the books she leaves on me at night is unnecessary. She could take off at least five and I'd rest much better. I think she just likes the way they look— or maybe she thinks they make her look smart— or maybe the books remind her of something. Actually, they do slide around up there a good bit. Maybe she does look at them.
The sounds at night are different right now. It's quiet earlier. Their schedule has changed because I hear her kids in the early morning hours.
And now my nights are shorter because she gets in here earlier than she has in a few months. Not EVERY morning and the weekends are sporadic but a lot of mornings she's slipping into the chair while it's still dark. And some mornings after she's disturbed my peace she has the nerve to put her head down and doze. And I know she's sleeping because her head is extremely heavy.
At night, I'm glad to have a break from her elbows and forearms that never seem to leave me. If she's not writing with her pen or typing, she's leaning over a book. To me, she seems to waste a lot of time in here— especially when she brings in her phone.
I need my rest at night because after the early morning hours, she leaves and comes back and so many days, she puts her feet under me — and her arms on me— and loads me down with all sorts of books, papers, and folders. She leans on me more than usual— shuffling around the books— leaning over to see them-- putting more of a strain on me. However, if it's a particularly long day for her, I'll get a whiff of that coffee once more. Later, I can rest my tired self.
As I rested last night, I thought about today and how little typing and writing she did. She sat a lot. I know I am just a desk but things have been different lately. She moves slower-like drags a little- even at moving her things around. She drinks more coffee than normal. She remains still for longer period of times. And she's been in here a lot more regularly and for longer periods of time.
I have a drawer that was giving me some problems as I began to rest last night. That one has never bothered me before but then I realized it's because she's been using it a lot lately. I thought and remembered, she keeps Kleenex in there. I've been a desk long enough to know, she could be either sick or sad. If she were sick, I don't think she'd be up so early. If she were sick, I don't think she'd be sitting here with me but in the bed. If she just had a cold, I don't think these books, that big heavy one in particular, would be so important to her.
I know I am just a desk, but yes, I think she is sad.
I actually really like my desk. I have one in the laundry room that I try to do all the yucky stuff like paperwork. That word covers a lot of jobs. Some is actual paper and some is virtual paper via the amazing world wide web. Even though I like the convenience of filling out forms and just clicking to send them where they need to go, I really don't like signing my name using a mouse. That may be more tedious than getting out the envelope and stamps.
And then I have my happy desk. It used to to be the schoolroom desk/table but now it's mine. All mine. It's still in what we call the schoolroom/guest room —thanks to Jeff's handy skills in making a Murphy Bed— and here is where I get to do things I really love.
So what in the world would my desk think at night?
If she really wants to accomplish something tomorrow, she needs to leave her phone somewhere else.
I go to sleep looking forward to the best part of her sitting down with me which is usually her bringing in a good smelling cup of coffee. I also like that it's warm. And I am grateful she wipes up whatever she may spill. I'm white and I show mess. I like to be clean.
The weight of the books she leaves on me at night is unnecessary. She could take off at least five and I'd rest much better. I think she just likes the way they look— or maybe she thinks they make her look smart— or maybe the books remind her of something. Actually, they do slide around up there a good bit. Maybe she does look at them.
The sounds at night are different right now. It's quiet earlier. Their schedule has changed because I hear her kids in the early morning hours.
And now my nights are shorter because she gets in here earlier than she has in a few months. Not EVERY morning and the weekends are sporadic but a lot of mornings she's slipping into the chair while it's still dark. And some mornings after she's disturbed my peace she has the nerve to put her head down and doze. And I know she's sleeping because her head is extremely heavy.
At night, I'm glad to have a break from her elbows and forearms that never seem to leave me. If she's not writing with her pen or typing, she's leaning over a book. To me, she seems to waste a lot of time in here— especially when she brings in her phone.
I need my rest at night because after the early morning hours, she leaves and comes back and so many days, she puts her feet under me — and her arms on me— and loads me down with all sorts of books, papers, and folders. She leans on me more than usual— shuffling around the books— leaning over to see them-- putting more of a strain on me. However, if it's a particularly long day for her, I'll get a whiff of that coffee once more. Later, I can rest my tired self.
As I rested last night, I thought about today and how little typing and writing she did. She sat a lot. I know I am just a desk but things have been different lately. She moves slower-like drags a little- even at moving her things around. She drinks more coffee than normal. She remains still for longer period of times. And she's been in here a lot more regularly and for longer periods of time.
I have a drawer that was giving me some problems as I began to rest last night. That one has never bothered me before but then I realized it's because she's been using it a lot lately. I thought and remembered, she keeps Kleenex in there. I've been a desk long enough to know, she could be either sick or sad. If she were sick, I don't think she'd be up so early. If she were sick, I don't think she'd be sitting here with me but in the bed. If she just had a cold, I don't think these books, that big heavy one in particular, would be so important to her.
I know I am just a desk, but yes, I think she is sad.
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