Taxes and my Desks
Taxes and my Desks
3 April 2014
I’m late with my blog this week. That’s all the taxes' fault. I had to start the taxes. ARGH!!! Today is day three of trying to unwind this tangled ball of @#$$%%$^.
That means I’ve lost three days of working on my latest manuscript. It needs a plot line. The characters have presented themselves, but I’m not convinced they’ve thought this through. So I’m brainstorming an adventure for them.
Meanwhile I’m doing taxes, on my faithful office desk. Rescued from a corporate office that was closing down and about to toss it, my Six feet long desk holds not only the beloved books I need around me, but until they’re finished, the mess of tax forms and figures. A burden this desk has borne year after year each spring.
When my parents passed away, my sister and I adopted their furniture. My clever brother-in-law took one look at all the furniture my sister scattered around their home and said, “Looks like a furniture store!” He may be right, but my furniture store provides me with a LOT of options for writing while the tax mess takes up the office desk.
There’s the stand up desk I made with a lap desk and a plant stand so I can look out onto the front woods. Which doesn’t mean I’m not writing. It may look like I’m spending more time keeping an eye on the critters, but I am writing. Really.
Or there’s the nook in the dining room where the wingback chair The Prince Consort and I reupholstered sits with a table I found at a discount store. Great place to cozy in and write. NikkiCat thinks so too, which is why there’s a soft blanket on the seat. A little crowded.
So I move onto the back bedroom where there are Three desks! Yep. The first, which NikkiCat likes for its location at the window where a certain cardinal hangs out when the crepe myrtle is in full leaf. This desk once lived in Professor Daughter’s room, but now a lively red belongs to Nikki and me.
Next comes the carved desk I grew up with in my parents’ house. I loved this desk. The carved scenes fed my imagination.
Now, I’m exhausted and NOT going back to the taxes. So I pull up pillows and stretch out with the lacquer lap desk, inherited.
That doesn’t last long. Guilt. So I move into the living room to the table and Painted Lady chair, inherited.
Kath who may live in a furniture shop, but its gloriously filled with options when taxes drive me away from my beloved office desk.