My Own Space

More than one source over the past two weeks has been telling me I need a space to write. Something comfortable. Something, mine. Currently I write where I can. At my desk at work, in the airplane terminal, or the kitchen table. I don’t have my own space. I don’t have anything around to inspire me or make me feel comfortable in the spaces I write. I think this may be causing my lack of enduring enthusiasm. I don’t like where I am sitting down to the page.

I have been thinking about creating a space for myself in my house. We bought the little house a year ago. It has an office and an extra room, but neither of these places is isolated enough to keep me from wandering or wanting to get up. The spare room is, to an extent, but I have created this space for my artist wife to build and create her art. So what is left for me? I could take the small corner unused in the living room, but to really feel isolated I would need to wear headphones and put up a Chinese screen to section off the corner for myself. I could use the laundry room, but it doubles as the catbox room, and that aint happenin’. So the only place left is outside or the garage.

Outside isn’t going to happen either, because the shed or the porch is just not very comfortable during most of the year in Southern California. 110 degrees isn’t uncommon where I live and being in a metal shed with a fan and a desk will deter my writing more than being around stale urine and cat shit. No, outside isn’t going to work, so the last place available to me is the garage. This is a man’s domain anyway, or at least I try and convince myself of this. I look around and see a lot more stuff in here from my wife than me, so who’s domain is it. It does have a nice work bench and drums and tools. I do feel comfortable out here, especially with the iPod sound system I jerry rigged out of some computer speakers and a subwoofer. But the work bench is not at a comfortable height and there is a heat problem in the garage in the summer as well. But I could do my writing at night and open the door a crack to get a nice breeze.

Alright, so I picked the garage. A long road to haul to finally get there, but yes I am going to build myself a little place in the garage. I have started to move things around and eliminate boxes of stuff I haven’t touched since we moved in. I have cleared some room and started to get some kind of organization in the space.  I cleared things away from, and off of, my work bench, and have called people who are storing things in my space, and told them to come and get it.

I keep stalling, and holding out my arm to progress for me. Having my own space is secondary to my nature, which is to take care of others. So I have to put a foot forward when I want to put it back instead. I keep thinking that I need to do with the space I have and I don’t need to go to the trouble to create something only I use. Which is just bullshit and me trying to feel sorry for myself.

I think I am going to go try and find a cheap desk and toss it in a corner and put up some things that make me happy. Get the iPod ready, cause here I come. I need a routine, and I think to have a solid routine I need a comfortable space. Time to get serious with taking care of my inner artist. At least I will have somewhere to do it, even if all I do is sit there and stare at a blank page daily, inspiration will come eventually if I just show up at the page.