19 January 2009

On My Desk

My desk is a dining table that I purchased from a Macy's furniture outlet east of downtown Los Angeles. Its conversion to desk-work was simple enough; its seemingly limitless space offered enough room for my "stuff": ubiquitous laptop, an all-in-one all-American printer, some stationary and envelopes, a tray for mail and to-do lists, speakers for my tunes (usually jazz or talk radio) while I work, and a half-dozen reference books that I keep close with an amazing set of bookends that I originally purchased for Ben Stein as a thank you gift. (more on Ben on a future entry.)

I also have about a dozen or so fountain and rollerball pens, along with several photos of my two sons; tchotchkes from visits to Colonial Williamsburg and Monticello and my law school (where I visited for 3 years), all in the Commonwealth of Virginia. Man, do I miss that place, with its four seasons and my dog (Mr. Beebe) when he was still alive, and the big backyard with the beautiful elm tree where my ex and I and our first-born had picnics sitting under that elm with our soon-to-be-dead dog and marriage. Wait, what? Yes, you're right ... my desk.

A desk can be a living breathing thing with ghosts of the past and dreams for our future. Don't do what I just did for us, viz., languish in the past where guilt and unforgiveness and unrequited hopes can sour a stomach or feed an ulcer faster than an IRS audit. Dear friend, focus on those corners of your desk where the future lies, waiting for your efforts and for you to breathe life into your dreams!

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