Thursday, November 29, 2012


A year ago, we moved into a new home. We have lived many places, but this was the first place that was truly ours. That came with keys that had never been anyone else's, that we had picked the cabinets and the carpet, and came with a 30 year commitment. And I love this house. I love walking through the front door and seeing it. It's home in a way other houses and apartments and even the house I grew up in have not been.

Here's the truth: I love this house and I hate "the office" with a passion like no other.

There is nothing wrong with the actual room it's self, I suppose. I know we're lucky to have that extra bedroom; truly, I do. But it's become a catchall. Old year books shoved in the office closet. Wrapping paper and ribbons and tissue paper. Art supplies, art supplies everywhere. All my fabric and supplies for June November, my sewing machine, two computers and a printer and a shredded. A giant desk that we bought at a yard sale and a folding table, but only one chair, which is ridiculous come bill paying time. Kids toys make it in here. A giant shark balloon.

Oh, you thought I made that last one up? I did not.

Nothing is organized. It's at a point where I don't even know where to start. I just stand there, dumbfounded by the complete unorganization of it all.  I use the room daily and it is driving me bonkers.

I need a plan. My goal is a functioning office/play area/occasional guest room. I want this:

Stressed just thinking about it.

One last thing. This is the dry erase calendar in here:

This picture was taken today, two days away from DECEMBER.

 Help. Me.

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