I have moved my “second home office” to my bedroom. I have a desktop computer in my “other home office,” which is in the great room, and in computer years it is 475 years old. It does not have the most recent version of Internet Explorer. It doesn’t have PowerPoint. It has trouble handling more than one open program at a time. I still need it for some things, but the nifty wireless laptop I borrowed indefinitely from work is much more desirable. It is fast and portable, and I can run 15 programs at once if I need to (including PowerPoint AND Publisher, both of which are “required software” in my graduate program). Until this evening I had the laptop set up on my kitchen table, which was fine right after my weekly clean-a-thon when the laptop was the only foreign object on the table, taking up just one place setting. By the end of the week, however, the table was buried beneath notebooks, journal articles, stacks of paper, mugs, and textbooks. Tonight when I was cleaning I decided the laptop needed a new home. I have an antique enamel top table and two chairs in my bedroom, and when I was cleaning the bedroom it occurred to me that I don’t really spend a lot of time there, and I never sit in the chairs at the table, and that’s a shame, because it’s a very pleasant room–soft light, window seats, a rockin’ wall mount stereo, funky candles. So I dragged all of my books and papers to the bedroom and stashed them in an under-the-bed storage bin and relocated the laptop, and I must say, I’m quite happy working here. It’s like I have a new room.
I could take an entire day off from work and do nothing but read magazines–The Progressive, Yoga Journal, The Oxford American, Paddler, and an issue of Self I bought a few weeks ago because the cover story was about Ashley Judd. I’m ready for a snow day.
Yesterday my friend Joy sent me an email subscription to a daily email message from the Universe. It’s pretty cool–the messages are personalized and full of nice reminders to be patient with yourself, learn from change, look at the big picture, etc. Joy knew I’d like the idea of getting email from the Universe because she knows I believe the Universe intervenes in my life on a daily basis, gently nudging me (unless I need to be drop kicked), keeping me grounded and connected to people who make my life better, and “conspiring to assist me” with the adventure of living. But today the Universe surprised me. I am a member of a book club, the kind that has featured selections and monthly mailings that must be accepted or declined and sells books for pennies. I have NEVER accepted a monthly selection, and my last order was in mid-August. So imagine my surprise when I found a package from the book club in my mailbox this afternoon. Inside was The Oxford American Writer’s Thesaurus and Word Myths: Debunking Linguistic Urban Legends. There is no doubt in my mind that I did NOT order these books. They are not featured selections I forgot to decline. The package was addressed to me, so it wasn’t a postal error. It wasn’t a gift–the package came with an invoice. The funny thing is, these are books I might have ordered had I known they existed. I’ve been writing every day, and not just here. I’ve been thinking about stories and characters and impressions, and out of nowhere a writer’s thesaurus shows up in my mailbox. Perhaps the Universe is sending me yet another message.
*Italian; random information