Memoirs of a Fat Girl

Why? A bunch of reasons really, number one being, who would think that the smallest space would need the most work?

I have plans for this room. I want a desk, a good one, because I’m tired of using the pine thingamajig my dad bought when I was 15. I want to get rid of the carpet and put in flooring. I want to paint over the horrible blue I chose, and I want to wallpaper one wall. I want to hang up two pictures I took and developed years ago when I was doing photography. I want to make linen boards, I want to cover up that yucky fuse box; I want this to be my greatest space.

It takes time and it takes money to make a great space, both of which I ran out of before the relatives arrived. They had to be content with what I had so far, this wonderfully purple room which was blue not too long ago. The only things in it are a chair, two rolls of black and white wallpaper, the wallpaper kit to put it up, and two pictures I took over a decade ago, framed and waiting to be put up.

Good things come to those who wait, I’m told, and I really don’t want to rush this. I’m wild over everything else, that it looks so great, that it’s done. The completion of my den, my office, where I’ll do all my work, will have to wait just a little bit longer.

In retrospect, that’s not such a bad thing. After all, I get to be a décor nut for just a little bit longer.