And so I continue to empty.
And empty and empty and empty and empty and empty.
In order for me to work on anything even vaguely script related, I need clear space, both on the desk and around it, and that’s honestly been one of the hardest hurdles to overcome recently (creatively speaking). I’m not a café creative, and I can’t blast through text to music. Instead, I’m that creative that has a set up like a laboratory: minimal, under a control, preferably alone.
But at home, literal space has been a nightmare. For long enough, my bedroom was my office. Since moving home, the bedroom then shrunk, making even an area for a desk next to impossible. So you make do, and in turn, make nothing.
The house itself has been upside down for a while now, amidst refurbs and other shenanigans, with everyone trying to navigate any available surface. If it doesn’t have bags on it, it has a cat. If it doesn’t, look away. Look back. Hey presto, cat!
But, bit by bit, more things leave.
And soon, unearthed from the ‘things’, appears a four-legged structure. With flat bits, wide bits, bits you can move about.
Some say its name is Desk. (Others call it Thing to Put Other Things On, but we don’t talk to those people). Some complain that once you’ve crawled in between the desk and the shelf, there isn’t a magical world behind it, ready to catch you as you fall and get a bit stuck for like, twenty minutes. Whatever people say, I have a desk, and I say:
It’s about damn time.