OfficePaLoser

So Manager Mom (who totally haunts my old stomping grounds) sent out the call -- post an inside look at your "thinking space" or "office."

And good god, it just sucked to even think about it. Office? Thinking space? Manager Mom, you are funny. But I'm game.

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Most of the hard core intellectual thought happens here, with an ice coffee:



Oh funny people! That is so not me in the back ground (but it kinda looks like me; weird) and that is so not my house. But that, pals, is indeed my car. I would take a picture of the interior of the real one, where most of my magic happens in fact, but I do have some things I choose to keep private like the leftover coffee and donut experiments conducted therein.

Even when my kids are in it and that bad man is talking shit on the radio, I do some serious thinking in my car. Most of which ends up here.

Also, I have this special spot

which is the inside of the "juice box" fridge. I find myself staring at it from time to time. Opening and shutting it. Opening and shutting it. I think the process gives me inspiration. I do not know why. It must be some Zen thing, but after a long day in the mobile thinking unit, this kind of meditation just calls to me. The repetition seems to help. You should try it.

I am always going for this gal

who is (sadly?) seated here

near the computer screen with the keyboard I am typing on right now. In the kitchen. Next to the teevee. And the back door to the outside with the creaky screen that screams at me all day when the Three Short Drunk People are doing what they do, which is going in and out and in and out and out and in and out again five freaking thousand times a day.

Still, I count my blessings: I've got my three foot long piece of painted plywood the Stud installed as my "room of ones own" that is glared at by a magnetic board covered with crap I have not dealt with and should. It's also got pictures of my kids, which is stupid, since all I need to do is pretty much turn around to see them for reals.

Anyone who knows the genius of Ms Picket-- and if you want some of that, go here, 'cause dudes I posted TWICE today and was all kinds of educational -- must be all WTF? How does this woman manage such brazilliance in such chaos? So I will let you in on a little secret. It is not this

so much. It is the amazingly high-end Pottery Barn look-alike stool that I sit on, with it's secret

feet.

You are so, so jealous right now, I kinda feel bad for you.

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After looking at other "office" pictures, I need to say this: nothing, NOTHING, here was tidied or re-arranged. Except that, yo, the beer that should have been on the desk, I was totally holding it in my hand.