"I Don't Have a Desk," I Complained

Evidence of my various activities is scattered throughout the house like Easter eggs on the White House lawn. The dining room table is especially hard hit by a blizzard of my personal effects. As I write, I see my weekly calendar, a stack of files that have no filing cabinet to call home, my stationery and stamps, sealing wax with its  paraphernalia, a stack of random papers, and...you get the idea. There is more but I have no wish to bore you to tears. I have complained of not having my own desk, and perhaps by leaving my clutter in open view, I am subconsciously communicating to my husband that I really need that roll top desk I very consciously requested for my birthday. I dream of having such a desk at which to sit while writing letters and doing other important, though not as enjoyable, things. As I followed a series of internet links just now my attitude was rebuked by the simplicity of genius. Below is a picture of Jane Austen's writing table.
Yes, that's it. It appears to be slightly larger than a dinner plate. And to think that all this time I have enjoyed a whole dinner table. Jane has offered me a reality check and I have accepted. I will now find a more suitable home for my things, tidy up, and be content. You can read the article about Jane Austen's writing table here.

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