Imagine, if you will, the house of a chronic hoarder, and you will have a close approximation of my writing room.
A day bed, whose only occupants for the last few years have been my daughter's discarded dolls and a, for some inexplicable reason...
In My Room
‘Is this the junk room?’
‘No, it’s where I write.’
But it is a total mess. There are boxes piled in the corner, not neatly stacked, but higgledy-piggledy and overflowing with the books and magazines that aren’t precious enough to be...
Imagine, if you will, the house of a chronic hoarder, and you will have a close approximation of my writing room.
A day bed, whose only occupants for the last few years have been my daughter's discarded dolls and a, for some inexplicable reason...
In My Room
‘Is this the junk room?’
‘No, it’s where I write.’
But it is a total mess. There are boxes piled in the corner, not neatly stacked, but higgledy-piggledy and overflowing with the books and magazines that aren’t precious enough to be...
In My Room
‘Is this the junk room?’
‘No, it’s where I write.’
But it is a total mess. There are boxes piled in the corner, not neatly stacked, but higgledy-piggledy and overflowing with the books and magazines that aren’t precious enough to be...
In My Room
‘Is this the junk room?’
‘No, it’s where I write.’
But it is a total mess. There are boxes piled in the corner, not neatly stacked, but higgledy-piggledy and overflowing with the books and magazines that aren’t precious enough to be...
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