We have a room that is largely unused.

Well, I shouldn't say unused: it simply has no respectable purpose. It's the catch-all of the condo, kind of like that one drawer in the kitchen that attracts pens, paperclips, safety pins, pennies, and whatever else we happen to find lying around. We call the room an office, but the desk only takes up a teeny bit of the space. We used to have a futon in there (so it could have been used as a guest room, I suppose), but Nick sold that to my cousin a few months ago when she moved into her own apartment.

So, what has been sitting in the room? Baskets of clean, folded laundry belonging to yours truly. You know me and closets. I must defend, however, that I have not had a dresser since I moved in with Nick. I grew up with a big closet and two dressers, so it was a bit of an event figuring out how to store all my stuff with only a closet to work with (albeit a really big one).

I do not think my volume of clothing is absurd for no one has ever questioned my storage needs—heck, when I moved into my aunts' home, my dad came out and built additional areas to hang my clothes without any reaction (though, he may have just been dulled to clothing volume because of my mom's collection).

Nick, on the other hand, seems to think I have a lot of clothes. I find this laughable because his closet is all but bursting at the seams; he has four or five long containers that slide beneath the bed; AND he has a five-drawer dresser. All storage areas are full. (Of course, he doesn't switch out winter and summer clothes like I do, but still.)

Anyway, my storage system in this dresser-less existence was an impressive combination of baskets and stacked containers, but it required constant vigilance.

All that changed when I realized that I could fit a dresser in the room with the futon gone. That's right: after nearly six years, I have a dresser! It's wonderful! I spent a day reorganizing my clothing and other miscellaneous bits then decided that I might as well claim the whole room as sort of a closet-entryway…second-closet…outer-closet. By that evening, I was calling it my closet proper, and Nick was all, "Wah!?"



And behind the door:



I have found myself wandering into this room more, lighting candles and buying Wallflowers. It's absolutely sinful. I think Nick is in a state of bemusement. I did let him retain a tiny corner of real estate to keep his computer desk…see? I can share.

The blanket's back.



I love fall colors, but I don't keep this blanket out year-round. When I look outside and see the leaves so vibrantly green with life, I don't want to be reminded that their vigor will be short-lived. I hide the blanket as soon as the ground thaws. Sophie understands how it is, but that doesn't make it any easier—you see, she loves that blanket.


If I didn't know better, I would say that Sophie has become clingy, always sitting with me on the couch…but I know better. I know that I've got nothing to do with it. I know that I've just gotten in the middle of an attraction bigger and stronger than anything I could have imagined when I bought that plush throw.

Meanwhile, I harbor jealousy toward a blanket: she's loves you more than me…wwaaaaanh!

Tuesday was November 15th. Throughout the entire day, I had this nagging feeling that something about November 15th was significant. I have an amazing memory for dates which counterbalances my forgetfulness with refilling the cat's water bowl—so I was extremely irked that I couldn't figure out what happened on November 15th. I was getting ready for work the next morning when the light bulb lit.

I don't use a bathrobe regularly, but I have one hanging from a hook on my closet door. That morning, I decided that my need for coffee exceeded my need for propriety in the form of non-nakedness. I decided to grab my robe and head toward the coffeemaker. As I yanked down the robe, I got a glimpse of my gold honor cords that were disturbed from their resting place.

November 15, 2010 was my last official day of school. I can't believe it's been an entire year (but I really should, because I've been paying on that student bill for several months now). I pet one of the golden tassels and shook my head. Earning those cords once seemed so important…and there they hung, completely forgotten.

I looked behind me to the top of the desk where my degrees sat, collecting dust in their leather portfolios. I gave three years of my life to full-time studentship while also working full time…and for what? In that moment, I realized that the real token that I was awarded for my work was confidence.

My classes did not give me new-found skills—I had those skills before. What I didn't have was the guts to use them or the global understanding to use them to the best benefit. Completing my degree expanded my world and gave me breath.

I know that I want my MBA. I've looked into programs, and I've purchased materials to study for the GMAT. I completed my BS for my career—but when the time comes, I will complete my MBA for me. (As such, I certainly will not be enrolled full time!)

I look back and wonder how I survived with so little sleep, so little downtime, so little…everything. A friend told me that we get through what we have to get through simply because we have to. Nothing important is really impossible, you know. My outlook is still shiny and like new, unlike those expensive pieces of paper. I may not be smiling as big as I was a year ago (if I was, I'm sure my face would have cracked and fallen away by now), but I'm definitely smiling.

If only she had learned to read a clock instead of listening to her tummy, Sophie would not have been so perplexed over the time change this morning. She could not fathom why her humans were still in bed when they should have been up and feeding her. She decided to sprawl on the food giver's head until she got the hint, but she was more dismissive than Sophie bargained.

When the slackers finally stumbled downstairs, they acted as though nothing was wrong. Sophie jumped to the perch where she receives her morning treats and bayed. The food giver finally snapped to, but Sophie did not want the tardiness to go unpunished. She gave the food giver a firm but harmless nip on the finger: the food giver needed to remember her place.

When the alarm clock in Sophie's belly sounded later that afternoon, she was disappointed to see that the food giver had not, in fact, learned her lesson. She kept telling Sophie some gibberish about a big hand and a little hand. Sophie decided that she must be a complete idiot—she had paws not hands, and they were all pretty much the same size.

Moron.

When the food giver finally DID HER JOB, Sophie was so worn out from giving her hell that she collapsed on the couch. Keeping those humans in line is a draining, thankless job.