A Room of My Own

It’s been so long since I posted, I’d forgotten my password…

BUT I have my study.

It doesn’t have any bookshelves yet but I’m sorting through my books, labelling boxes in that orderly way that only comes with procrastination, and digging up all these old writing projects that I’ve done over the years. I think I’ve written millions of words over the last nearly thirty years since I left high school. Of course, most aren’t any good but they are all signs of practice. It’s a bit like finding that 1980s leotard in the sock drawer and remembering sweaty aerobics classes. I was fit then. Gee, I used to take aerobic classes! They were for pregnant women, mind you.

My study has ivory walls and an olive green desktop and wooden venetians and no roof insulation yet (but that will come when the eaves get fixed). Owing to lack of richness, it’s outside the house under the (new) carport and as we haven’t got a back door yet, I have to go out the laundry door, past the dogs, out the gate, across the carport and get in quick before the summer flies follow me in. All this is okay, though: owner builders are very tough. When I pull up the venetians, I have a view across the vegie patch and fruit trees and into the bush. I know studies aren’t meant to have views (they are for SERIOUS WORK) but you need to rest your eyes and gaze out into the distance at least every hour.

Other people are allowed to use my study but only if they are quiet. There is no WiFi. At least, that’s what I’m telling them. And only my music can be played. Wow. Such control.

Let’s see now if it helps production levels.

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