I have a problem.
I've become obsessed. And I mean obsessed. I've had obsessions before but this is different. I can't concentrate. I can't work. I can't focus on my kids. All I do is surf the web looking, searching, pining for the one.
And I can't find it. Or rather, I've found it about five times, but then I realise it's not right. It's not the one. It isn't satisfying me. There's another, that's right, that's perfect, that is going to solve everything. There's another, that is going to make everything okay.
And I can't stop.
It's been going on since Sunday. I have spent hours and hours and hours searching online for....
A desk.
A new desk.
A perfect new desk.
I hadn't even thought about a new desk before Sunday. I was happy with my (admittedly worn and a bit crappy) desk I bought when I first moved into my new apartment. I was rushing, at the time, and didn't put a lot of thought into it, but that's okay. It was fine. It served its purpose.
Until Sunday.
On Sunday I decided I needed a new desk. At first I wanted a super modern desk. Then I decided I needed a ladder desk. Then I was sure I wanted a secretaire desk, with a pull down front, and tiny little compartments. Then I was absolutely positive I wanted a super-cool vintage wooden desk, which unfortunately was only available in the States and couldn't be shipped to Oz.
Then I broke down, because it was hopeless. And then realised I didn't know what I wanted. I was just searching. I was searching for something. I was searching because I am lost.
I finished my manuscript on Sunday. My manuscript for my latest book. I sent it to my agent last November, and she recommended some revisions, which I worked on for the past four months. I worked hard. Really hard. Every single day I worked on my book. How I laugh when I hear of people writing novels in a month. This novel took a year of hard, all-encompassing work. And then I sent it in.
And now it's over.
And so I am searching, searching, searching for the perfect desk. Except that maybe I don't really need a new desk after all.
Maybe I just need to start a new book.
And it won't matter at all what I write it on.
I've become obsessed. And I mean obsessed. I've had obsessions before but this is different. I can't concentrate. I can't work. I can't focus on my kids. All I do is surf the web looking, searching, pining for the one.
And I can't find it. Or rather, I've found it about five times, but then I realise it's not right. It's not the one. It isn't satisfying me. There's another, that's right, that's perfect, that is going to solve everything. There's another, that is going to make everything okay.
And I can't stop.
It's been going on since Sunday. I have spent hours and hours and hours searching online for....
A desk.
A new desk.
A perfect new desk.
I hadn't even thought about a new desk before Sunday. I was happy with my (admittedly worn and a bit crappy) desk I bought when I first moved into my new apartment. I was rushing, at the time, and didn't put a lot of thought into it, but that's okay. It was fine. It served its purpose.
Until Sunday.
On Sunday I decided I needed a new desk. At first I wanted a super modern desk. Then I decided I needed a ladder desk. Then I was sure I wanted a secretaire desk, with a pull down front, and tiny little compartments. Then I was absolutely positive I wanted a super-cool vintage wooden desk, which unfortunately was only available in the States and couldn't be shipped to Oz.
Then I broke down, because it was hopeless. And then realised I didn't know what I wanted. I was just searching. I was searching for something. I was searching because I am lost.
I finished my manuscript on Sunday. My manuscript for my latest book. I sent it to my agent last November, and she recommended some revisions, which I worked on for the past four months. I worked hard. Really hard. Every single day I worked on my book. How I laugh when I hear of people writing novels in a month. This novel took a year of hard, all-encompassing work. And then I sent it in.
And now it's over.
And so I am searching, searching, searching for the perfect desk. Except that maybe I don't really need a new desk after all.
Maybe I just need to start a new book.
And it won't matter at all what I write it on.
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