My Office

MY FACEBOOK STATUS TONIGHT: "cleaning my office=mild torture. i want so badly to be a super-organized person, but it always ends up with a roomful of boxes of half-torn scrapbook paper, a million random pens, an array of photos i have no clue why i printed, things clipped from magazines i'll never use, books and books and more books, a few tossed-off sweaters, a gazillion notebooks with useless lists like "Losing 15 pounds by St. Patrick's Day" and "Burn These Songs to CD", snipped Forever 21 tags, forgotten-about costume jewelry, birthday cards too sweet to pitch, overnight bags still filled with whatever i took overnight a million nights ago, etc. spliththththhththththhtttt."

Tonight, I cleaned my office. It's not perfect but it's relatively organized. I believe your work space is a good example of what's going on in your brain, and it's safe to say my brain is overloaded and usually a big fat mess...but it's full of pretty things! 

Our house, in general, represents who we are. It's a 1910 Victorian full of wood and bullseye trim and a million heavy doors and a spoon-dug cellar. We've been renovating it for years, and have years upon years to go. My husband loves projects, and I just like putting on the finishing touches. The day-to-day of living in a restoration project is daunting and frustrating, especially with small children running underfoot. But the reward of finishing a room exactly to our (vintage, Victorian-gothic, dark & warm) taste is unparalleled. Patience, I've heard, is a virtue. 

My office is full of things I love, but it was also full of shit. Two big bags of store tags and papers and scraps later...

lindsey.