It’s a little creepy being in the back corner of my house, sitting with the cat’s litter-box and my dad’s old little-league trophy. What’s stranger, though, is sitting at my desk from high school, listening to the old boom box I won while fundraising for my senior class prom.
I needed a desk space to work, and the dining room table, my natural go to spot, wasn’t working. My mom was watching TV and the sounds of suburban house-wives ripping at each others weaves and clothing was distracting—my mom really likes reality TV—plus, the Christmas tree is right there and the presents were taunting me.
So to the back of the basement I came. I set up my computer and notebooks, changed the radio from talk to music, and got to work.
Two hours later I had successfully watched a lot of online TV—I recently got into the show “Weeds”—and written a draft of one of my essays. I also ate all the guacamole my mom made and talked on the phone while staring through an old pvc-pipe at the MLB wallpaper on the back of one of the bookshelves.
I know high school is behind me, but it was fun to take a blast to the past and work at the same desk I spent so much time at just a few years ago. I used to lock myself down there when I was studying. I’ve actually had the desk since before high school, it’s one of my only possessions that I never carved my name into—I used to carve my name into everything. It’s a sore subject with my family because I “ruined” a lot of our furniture. Especially when I couldn’t spell my name right, so had to try multiple times.