Coming To You From Inside My Closet
You think I'm kidding. But I'm not.
You see, with my new job comes the need for me to have a place where I can keep my assorted trappings. And up until this point, I've been camped out in the kitchen. Let us just say that paperwork exploding all over the place is not a good look for my kitchen.
I had this mad scientist revelation a few months back that my walk-in closet would make an awesome office space. It isn't too big, not too small, and aside from the fact that it has no natural light (which might blind me anyway, so accustomed am I to the glare from my laptop) and no electrical outlets, it is just about right.
So I moved our wardrobes out of "my new office" and began to play around with layouts. I mean, how creative can you get with a 6 ft by 6 ft space? Not very. But still! It has a door. A door I can close! The major issue was power. Must have power so that I can "work" in my "office."
The air quotes are courtesy of my husband who swears that my work is really "work." We've had a little discussion about the nature of my job, and he still claims "work" applies. I don't know whether to smack him or install a dedicated mini-fridge to store all my bon-bons.
Anyway, I'm typing away here in my closet, er, office, and I have to say that it is pretty damn funny. It doesn't look remotely office like yet, pretty much like a closet. With a laptop-wielding lunatic sitting in the middle. Doesn't bother me any. And the thing that is even funnier is that my kids aren't even trippin' about it. Oh, yeah, of course Mom's in the closet.
That totally makes sense, since this is where I usually go when I have to make a conference call, or discuss "business" with "co-workers" - heh. My husband has me air-quoting all over the place.
But then again, I've got hilarious co-workers, so I guess he's right. I "work" in my closet. How seriously can I take myself?
Now, about that mini-fridge...