My Fuckin Office to Be

I finally got tired of trying to be productive at my dining room table. Okay, not finally, it's been more like an always thing that I was just too lazy to do anything about. The high traffic area combined with the convenience of the kitchen has been doing nothing for my efficiency, or my body. Seriously, it’s hard to look bang-tastic and be useful with Husband’s homemade chili just a few steps away, seducing me with its borderline orgasmic flavors… mmmm…

ANYWAY.

Work. 
Not eating, or discussing how Husband’s cooking makes my no-no happy.

Woo-sah...

I've needed my own space, a zen zone if you will. So I started systematically looking through the house for a potential workspace. By systematically, of course I mean roaming around aimlessly with a water bottle and badgering my husband for kisses anytime I saw him.

I needed somewhere I could spread all the fuck out if needed, and be able to leave things unfinished in a place out of the way where curious hands and dogs paws don’t roam.

And thus, I ambled into the “guest” room, and my genius came into play. 

I am a genius, don’t laugh!

We don’t have guests. We live nowhere, next to nothing, west of Bumfuck. So, by guest room, I mean really a room with a rickety twin bed we just don’t want to let go of and all the gifts/technology we weren’t actively using or planned to "do something with, you know, someday…”

 Photographic evidence of the horror

Doesn’t it look cozy? It sits on the ever so toasty south end of the house, ergo the Jesus-like, all encompassing brightness that is the window. Who wouldn’t want to stay there during the inevitable zombie apocalypse wrought on us by some experiment gone wrong at one of the military technology bases??

Well, I decided. This would be my mountain, my new project to obsess over and forget I’m married in. I’ve done a little cleaning and organizing, and this will be at least a two part post once I bitch slap the space into shape.

For now, all you need to know is, challenge fucking accepted.