My Room

At long last, I have my own room. At least I'd like to think so. After two years, a lot of effort and more money than I'd prefer to think about, the bonus room over the garage is done, and we have begun to "move in." I am sitting here with my back toward the afternoon window, looking out at a still mostly unfurnished room - there is a trundle bed for guests, and a recliner that was a bigger pain to move up the stairs than I had bargained for. The wall of built-in bookshelves are still empty, but hold the promise of a quiet reading-room to be. I am typing this on my laptop of course, sitting behind a new dark wood desk, boasting a classy modern black finish with matching two-shelf stand and a 2-drawer file cabinet right behind me. To my right is a recently purchased HP TouchPad, currently linked to an internet radio station playing the smooth sounds of big band and swing. Or, with the touch of the screen, I can be logged into a web service that allows me to play digital audio files from our CD collection (which are stored on the media computer in the kitchen). The TouchPad is connected via stereo cable to a set of Bose speakers behind me, which fill the room with whatever soundtrack I desire.

This is to be my place, my refuge where I can escape the world for a few moments at a time and indulge my desire for solitude, and perhaps to write whatever words may come.

Of course, it is not just my room. Before very long, I'm certain it will become Grand Central Station (as attested by the arrival at this precise moment of my youngest son, trying to look over my shoulder). But aside from the interruptions, it is still nice to have a place to go, to have a space more or less my own.

I have long wanted a place to write and to read, a place to study and research, a place to rest that "feels" like my own. Although, I can't say whether the words will come any easier this way (indeed, I'm finding it quite tempting to let the music play, cut the lights, and nap in that recliner over there). But at least I'm nearly set up for the endeavor.

Yet the real world continues to breathe heavily down my neck. I have 6 months of work to do in the next 3, and I have more than a little anxiety about the outcome, not to mention the personal cost of associated with achieving success. I hit burnout 7 months ago, and have found little relief since then. Still, I am enslaved to the deadline before me, so I will give up my Sunday afternoon and soldier through it somehow.

But that can wait a few more minutes, while I close my eyes and immerse myself in the music filling this space, taking for myself a moment of solitude, rest and escape in this delightful sanctum that is my room.