I am in my office, enjoying my new desk which I have finally hutched out in full, using an old cabinet door I found down in the basement, oiled with lemon oil, and propped up on my desk on four bricks I pried out of the backyard garden. This has enabled me to spread out many books and notebooks without the hindrance of my laptop and keyboard/mouse. Since I spend approximately 10 hours a day sitting at this work station, it is frankly shocking how long it took me to commit to creating the hutch I could picture very clearly in my mind, but anyway, what’s done is done.
It’s a simply glorious day. The tulips are busting out, and there is a bird that is literally saying “tweet tweet tweet” outside my window. I’ve never heard a bird actually use the word “tweet” but this one is really going for it. I am reading about neoliberalism. On my desk are many opened volumes of various books and reference works, for example the Encyclopedia of Political Economy, volume 2, which is opened to the entry on Schumpeter. Volume 1 is opened to the entry on “bioeconomics.” I am writing notes in my fancy notebook, things like “thoughtless definition of ‘creative’ as ‘innovative'” and “this is some bullshit.”
I hear my husband stirring in the bedroom where he has continued sleeping for several hours after I arose, as is his wont. He flops around putting his pants on. After awhile he comes into my office and stands in the doorway staring at me, his hair a frightful Knausgaardian silver snarl. I look up from my book about how capitalism is destroying all life on earth. My husband smiles so gently and sweetly at me. “Good morning!” I say. “I hope we can die together, holding hands in bed,” he says.