Yesterday they delivered my new bookshelf and I assembled it using an unreliable and irritating phillips head screwdriver I found in the evidence room. I need to bring my own tool box into the office.
Anyhoo, I got the thing assembled. It took less than half an hour and I happily placed it next to my filing cabinet and underneath the 67″ monitor I have hanging on the wall.
Today, I filled it partially with books. (Law books, as all law students know, are magically printed on super-thin delicate pages that somehow manage to weigh 47 tons each, resulting in hunchbacked lawyers across the nation.) I carried in nearly a shelf full and happily arranged them.
Then I settled in with my cup of hot coffee and looked around my office.
My space, with my door, that I can shut.
The high corner office hidden away from everyone else was hated by every other person it was given to. My boss had it, our ex-partner had it. Every single person despised being so far away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the office.
I revel in the ability to shut a door and work in silence. I read contracts and develop websites and research with no one walking past me, asking me questions, breaking my flow. I sit in my isolation chamber with my hot coffee surrounded by pictures of prairie dogs, my kids, Dan, and me snuggling tigers. I relax, I sink in, I smile.
I am at home.