What was I thinking?

I had one of those "Oh my god, what was I thinking?" moments today. 

It actually started last weekend at my grandchildren's birthday party. I saw a big, beautiful desk sitting under an apple tree near the driveway, and asked my son about it. He said it had belonged to my daughter-in-law's family, and he had tried to sell it at a recent garage sale, and no one wanted it. Well, I wanted it.

My son's in-laws delivered the desk to me today, and even though I had rearranged my living room to accomodate it, I was still overwhelmed by how BIG it was. It measures 5 feet across, and is almost 3 feet deep. Heavy, vintage, with deep file drawers and all the space I can need or want. I nudged a sofa over a bit more, turned the desk 90 degrees, and finally fit it into the planned space. With a lamp, and my printer, and an assortment of tchotchkes for inspiration, it makes me feel like Hemingway, or Fitzgerald. I almost want to swap out my computer for an old-fashioned manuel typewriter. Almost.

I love this desk. I love the size, the patina, the history. I love the feeling it gives me when I sit down, the feeling that I'm a serious writer, that someday, someone will buy a big, used desk, and blog that it makes them feel like Starns.