Friday, November 28, 2008
I'm on a constant search for an ideal space in which to write. This is mainly an excuse to procrastinate, as I tell myself I can put words together only if the chair is perfectly comfy and I hear a flowing river in the background, or maybe some cooing birds, instead of the sound of honking cars. But until I find this Shangri-La, I think I've created a good interim solution. A few weeks ago I sold the hulking dust magnet of a rowing machine that sat for years in front of my bedroom window. I once tried to convince myself that if I set eyes upon this behemoth the minute I awoke, I would actually use it. This was not the case, and instead I began each morning with a large dose of guilt.
I've now moved the nostalgic, somewhat comfortable easy chair of my childhood (a big, overstuffed pillow for my back will do wonders, soon as I find time to buy it) into that space. I thought about hiring a carpenter to build a window seat, but then the chair would need to go back into the dark corner by my dresser. I like looking at it and remembering how grown-up I felt when my mother decided to move the chair out of the living room and into mine, and the afternoon I hunkered down into its graceful Danish Modern embrace, covered with throws and cushions to mask awkward and elegant wooden anorexia, to write my college application essay. Now it overlooks a wide expanse of Broadway and reminds me of all the buildings I've yet to explore.
Top photo: the chair
Bottom: Broadway (thorough a trippy windowscreen haze)