I love interior design. I love the colors and fabrics and the nuances of a well-collected space.
I've had the particular delight of decorating my house for me - no other opinions to consider, no vetoes allowed. After all, Geriatric Poodle and Foxie Doxie don't even see in color. They appear to love the vintage fabric valances even if they don't match a damn thing in the house.
With this love of good design in mind, it's been a particular point of shame that since I moved into my house last August, my office has been The Room of Shit. The only reason the rest of the house looks presentable is because anytime anyone comes over, I move all the crap into the office and shut the door. Ta-da! Clean house.
Except. Except I've had it.
I worked from home today and realized that I Am Done.
So, I just returned from Home Depot. I bought yet another quart of the yellow paint that shouldn't look so blotchy after three coats. And I scored some more Kilz, in my ongoing quest to hide the random stain by the window.
The clutter is being moved into the living room, where it will be sorted while the paint dries.
There will be new blinds. And a new desk configuration. And, if I'm lucky, some fucking inner peace.