The zone

Every good writer needs a place to write, right?

Well, I suppose in this day and age, anywhere can be that place. All you need is a laptop, well a smart device of some sort (I am trialling sans laptop, hello iPad keyboard), and somewhere to park your ass for hours on end free from too many distractions. Alcohol helps get the creative juices flowing, as does people watching. Two much of those two combined, not a great idea.

Ultimately, I am a hopeless romantic and I love the idea of having a writing ‘place’. The preferred place. The inspiration. The ‘zone’ if you will.  A writers happy place that just puts them in the right head space.

I didn’t have a ‘place’. I would go between writing at the pub, on the bus (on my phone), occasionally at my desk, uncomfortably on my monster of a couch or in bed. Two times I have voice recorded my musings whilst driving in the hope that I wouldn’t forget my highly intelligent and hilarious ideas, only to let it disappear in to the void of taken up iPhone storage that doesn’t get seen or heard ever again. Sigh.

I live in a 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom, double garage, double living area home. I use 1 bedroom, 1.5 bathrooms, 1 living area and 1/3 of the garage. In an attempt to use the space that I own and pay a small fortune for, I decided to redo the front living area. It used to be the biggest entry way of all time, used for walking through and throwing shit on the floor. I took trailer loads of junk to the tip, gutted it, prepped it and painted the area with a little help, bought the most incredibly funky lights you have possibly ever seen and watched dad excitedly as he untangled them for installation (aren’t dads the best?), refilled the space with shelves and 2 desks and began the hunt for the perfect chair.

 

I knew exactly what I wanted. A big, round, comfy, big enough for 2 but mostly intended for just me, giant statement chair. I searched high and low on the dot coms and wasn’t really finding what I was after, until one day, like a blessed miracle, I found exactly what I wanted. It ticked every box I was after! Well, except the location but hey, small details. I ordered it, covered my eyes at the delivery cost (because if you can’t see it, it doesn’t exist) and began the 8 week count down ’til that little [big] baby was mine!!! I was going to have my ‘place’. My ‘zone’. The area would be complete and the romance of being curled up in an incredibly ergonomically incorrect way with my non-laptop and a cup of hot chocolate writing the next best seller was going to come true!

Now to harp on about the comedy of errors that followed. Fine, I’ll summarise:

  • The 9 week mark hits and I am yet to hear from the company. I call, it arrives next week. Excellent.
  • 3 weeks (or so) later, still no couch. I call, it’s in the warehouse.
  • Many more weeks later, STILL NO EFFING COUCH! Call them, delivery being organised, pay the balance, and wait….
  • ONE MILLION WEEKS LATER there is still no couch. Company gives me courier details, courier organiser give me a spiel and the courier company details, the Chinese whispers of my couch delivery is very apparent.
  • Finally another 17 weeks later my couch is on the truck from Adelaide to Perth. Possibly was a train, small details. I am promised delivery on December 16.
  • December 16 rolls around, no couch, no call. Apparent delays on the train line, it’ll be Monday. Couch is in Perth at least. Small wins.
  • And finally, as I know none of you are expecting it, 18 weeks and 1 day after the initial order and the beginning of the promises…

THE COUCH IS HERE.

I have my ‘place’. And you know what? It is perfect.

image

My ‘place’

It has completed my zone perfectly and I am so smiley and happy to sit here in my area and write an almost meaningless post about my chair to distract from my lack of motivation to attempt to write about the other things I have to write about.

So you better bloody love this post, ’cause now I have to write about real things like bucket lists and challenges and probably my cats. At least I’m in my chair, and unfortunetely, there’s no hot chocolate to be seen. Or bourbon. Boo.

Good evening lovelies xx

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