The Desk Is Sacred.

November 17, 2014

Being a writer is possibly one of the loneliest of the art forms. You don’t really need to socialize to do your work, in fact, you spend a lot of time researching and then a lot of time writing at your desk. Being a writer is committing to a life of solitude if not just a little hermit like. 

 

I spend a lot of time inside myself, listening to music, reading books, watching movies, researching stuff on google and then bringing everything into my stories. I hardly ever really go to another person and ask for help. Unless it’s editing or running jokes by my boyfriend, god bless his heart.

 

You know what else makes a writers job so secluded. Their office. Speaking of which, my office is almost done, we’re painting it and then moving the furniture in and FINALLY I will have my place of sanctuary. 

 

OR SO I THOUGHT!

 

On Halloween I ordered a desk.  A desk, that took me 8 hours to find. A desk, which I weeded through 5 websites to find. It was pathetic. It was epic indecision and total overwhelming expectations mixed with budgeting and beginner’s interior design eye. I mean, the room was nowhere near ready and I was ordering this magical desk on a prayer that maybe this might light a fire under our ass. 

 

Well, Walmart, the “Save Money, Live Better” fuckers. Surprise, surprise here I am 17 days later desk-less because of epic failure on your end. They lost the damn desk. How? How did this happen? Well they put it on a truck and that was the last time they saw it.

 

So now here I am two days away from a completed office and two weeks before my housewarming party and I have no desk! I, a writer, have no desk.  Do you know how hard it is to find a good desk these days? A sturdy, pleasing to the eye, comfortable desk?

 

And we are not talking some little desk that someone tinkers on or just a computer stand! NO. This desk is going to log some serious hours! I’m a writer. Sometimes four to five hours of my day is at a desk writing! 

 

I’m devastated. Annoyed. Bitter. A step away from just hopelessness. Why Walmart? Why?

 

My computer is currently on a dresser and if I want to type I have to sit on my bed to do it, which is comfortable for 5 minutes and hell after that. At this rate that’s going to be its permanent home because the people at Walmart are idiots!

 

So here I am waiting for my refund to hit my account. Because they couldn’t give me store credit or cash! Hoping that I can find A.) Time during my week to find a desk that I like because fuck you Walmart.com I’m not ordering from you again. And B.) Afford to buy one because I’m not fucking rich I had to buy food and after buying food I have no money to just blow on another desk.

 

You just don’t fuck with a writer’s desk. That is just... some sacred shit that is what that is.

 

It’s like Mickey Mouse taking his pants to the taylor for dry cleaning and finding out the fucking laundry gnome stole them. Or like Bugs Bunny ordering a shipment of carrots and getting onions instead!

 

It’s inhuman. It’s wrong.

 

Fuck you Walmart.com. 

   

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