The Desk

I often get wild ideas that all I need to get my life together is to spend my money on one item that will change my whole outlook. I can't tell you the number of cute planners I've purchased. I buy those cash register cook books at least once a month, "'250 Easy Chicken Recipes'?! OMG, I LOVE chicken!" "Tear out recipe cards?! SHIT, I gotta get a recipe box!" I've spent days trying to decide on the best wine rack to organize my bottles of wine. But planners get forgotten, recipes require grocery shopping (like, regularly), and I've never in my life had a bottle of wine in my apartment for more than 48 hours.

These are the things I should have thought about when I was buying my dream desk, but I was blinded by the clearance sticker ($15 from $150). I was dizzy with thoughts of all the bill paying and blogging I could do if I only had a desk! I had visions of myself spending hours doing responsible things at my desk that I'm sure grown ups do all the time: balancing my checkbook, working on my resume, and...well, those are really the only two grown up things I can think of (get off my back, I'm new at this). I couldn't resist!

Two months had passed and this is where my dream desk was:

The gym bag and tennis racket hadn't moved in the same amount of time.

I'd somehow forgotten that every inch of my apartment is full of stuff. I don't have a lot of space, but the space that I do have is used. the f#%!. up. Putting in a desk was going to take some serious organizing, and not to mention, some serious construction. I was going to have to assemble, and probably screw some stuff, and maybe even use a hammer. I was going to need to take my glitter nail polish off and use up every butch point I'd acquired (and I don't have many).

I knew my first challenge would be to clear out the corner of my apartment where I get the best stolen WiFi. I'd need to clean out my bedroom closet to make room for my "dresser." I was also going to have to clean out my kitchen closet to make room for the things that would be displaced by moving the drawers into the bedroom closet. Cleaning out my closets is a task I've attempted many times (in fact you can see the garbage bag from the last time I tried to get clothes together to donate). I've never succeeded because of the sheer volume of crap I've saved and also because I'm completely irrational about what should be saved and what should be thrown out (but what if I NEED a travel sized Light Brite one day?!). The last three times I've moved I've simply thrown everything in boxes and totes and then never touched them again. It was going to take some time, and I was in for some serious nostalgia.

Let's all agree to ignore the irony of me trying to grow up when I have a stuffed pink unicorn in my bedroom (the walrus and raccoon are totally mature), and also clock the makeshift desk I'd been using.

(Buffy wouldn't be going anywhere.)

I found old homework. Yeah, that's a paper for my Sociology of Death class written about an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Crushed it). I also noticed a major flaw in the organization of my notes. You'll notice 3 classes, 3 departments, same day, same notebook. It's a wonder I was able to study at all (holy epiphany, Batman!)!

I found articles of clothing that I would never again need. Like the denim jacket I wore in my senior pictures (now three sizes too big),

the feathery pink tiara from my 21st birthday, 

the smock from my high school job,

and a hat purchased at the birthplace of John Wayne in Winterset, Iowa (that I'm DEFINITELY keeping). 

I had a Brokeback Mountain calendar from 2007, an entire collection of Fear Street books (that I can. not. wait. to read), three nametags from Shopko (not even my name), and an old cell phone filled with pictures I'd forgotten existed (like a drawing of Kerra and I from an especially unproductive evening in the MSU Library). 

When I was done, I'd filled four garbage bags and emptied out three totes. I'd also filled a garbage bag with clothes to donate (because I'm sure the needy will be psyched to wear my old "Atlantis: The Lost Empire" t-shirt). My closets were cleaner and more organized than ever, I was exhausted, and I still had a desk to build.

I got out my trusty pink tool kit and opened the box to assess the situation. I took one look at the instructions, and I decided it really didn't make sense to be doing this late on a Friday night when I had all day on Saturday to finish the job. So there my desk sat...for about a week and a half.

My father had to use these tools at one time, and for 3 Christmases after he tried to get me to add a tool kit to my list.

After stubbing my toe on the thing one too many times I got down to business. It was even more ridiculous than you are imagining. I'm sure for anyone remotely competent at following instructions it was a simple project. I'm not that person. I flashed back to being asked to build patio furniture to be put on display at work. My boss came into the back room after an hour and found me sitting on the ground, in near hysterics, surrounded by parts and tools with only one chair built (and it was SUPER wobbly). 

The wood glue included in the packaging was a single gelatinous mass that came shooting out at me when I squeezed the tube. The only other thing I had was Elmer's Craft Glue (which was clogged), so I just dipped the wood dowels (is that a real carpentry term?) into the open container of glue and made a sticky mess out of the job.

And as if the mess I was making didn't make me feel inadequate enough, the instructions were super condescending about how single I am.

My inner monologue, "Okay, well I've got, like, super long arms, so  that's probably, like, the same as two people."
#forever alone

An hour later, with my confidence shaken but my spirit not broken, I had a desk.

Cute, right?!

With all of the excitement, however, I'd forgotten something kind of important...

I don't have a desk chair.

Perfect for spending an entire day in bed watching Lifetime Movies!

So that backfired...

Damn.