My Desk

My desk

Neat but dirty. That describes my house as well as my desk. Everything is neatly organized, no deep piles in sight. But there’s dust over everything but the keyboard. The papers I’m using show marks of momentarily placed hunks of chocolate, rings from icy water-coated glasses, scribbled reminders and the odd math problem.

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Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

6 thoughts on “My Desk”

  1. The top of my desk in my office is an organized clutter-a drawer of microfilm jackets on the far right side; my coffeemaker, creamer, and cup with a small stain; piles of microfilms I’m getting cleaned and in order; my stapler, phone, tape dispencer; my desk calender at the end.

  2. On my desk lie daily reminders that I have a life when I get to escape this tiny cubicle. A photo of my husband and I in the aqua blue waters of Cuba. School photos of my two children. I have a miniature cactus in a clay pot. I don’t really like the cactus, but nothing else would survive this harsh environment. Flowers need sunshine, not neon lights. They would also need clean oxygen, not glacial air conditioning coming out of that dusty duct.

  3. My dark brown wooden desk has three drawers underneath and one drawer for the keyboard. The top space is very well organized and the drawers beneath are neatly stuffed with my books, journals and some DVDS. On the top, I also have my notebook, a pencil jar, water bottle and a lamp.

  4. The second-hand wood Parson’s table next to the bed is a tousle of projects competing for attention – a computer, writing to be finished, client’s work to be done, bills to be paid, correspondence to be answered. I click on the sun lamp – acquired on the advice of a writing coach – that shines a welcoming task light over the surface and signals a time to focus on just one thing.

  5. My desk and me resemble each other a lot. We are both dusty, unkempt, and show a great deal of unfinished business. But there are endearing signs of love,care and hope.A cup of half-finished coffee, with a skin on the top wrinkling its nose at me;a half-eaten apple,browning over the raw edges, an embroidered table-cover that reminds you of time you learnt embroidery,frayed at the edges and covered with rings of several years of ill-wiped teacup bases.A book on meditation and yoga that should have been read several days ago,and todays’ newspaper which awaits its destination,the paper-bin.

  6. My desk is a vintage, oak roll-top, which I endearingly christened “Oakie” roll-top. I had always wanted a roll-top desk, and I had the chance to buy it from a friend of mine who moved to North Carolina in an effort to change her surroundings while at the same time seeking relief from the high property taxes, which burden homeowners in this area. It belonged to her mother, and it’s in pristine condition. It’s big and heavy, but most of all, spacious. It’s my private niche, my workstation, my refuge.

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