This is my study. I work from home. But I have no designated room that is all mine, with a door, and a lock, and soundproofed walls. It's merely an open room at the top of our stairs. Unfortunately, this room is not mine alone.
The other people in my family don't need this room. They all have their very own rooms with their very own space to dump their very own stuff. But for some reason, they've decided that my open space is exactly the right place to put their stuff. Books are never put away, but thrown in the general vicinity of the bookshelves so it looks like the poor shelves had a nasty case of indigestion and are now vomiting books. That telescope? Hasn't been used since 1994. This room is also the repository for all cords that cannot be thrown away -- we might need them someday! -- electronics no longer used, or used but then forgotten. That big TV in the corner of the picture? I now have to vault over that to even get to my desk to work.
Ninety-nine point nine percent of this crap is not mine. In fact, I will tell you right now that nothing in that picture is mine. David agrees and has generously said 90.2 percent of the crap is his. The kids take up the other 9.7 percent. Every two or three months I go through with a big garbage bag, throwing things away, giving Tums to the bookshelves, and neatly stacking everything that I know if I throw it away, David will kill me. And yet, within days, hour sometimes, it looks like this again.
Sometimes life just isn't fair.
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