My desk is in a state. A state of not having a proper place to live. A state of being halfway through an attempt to create a “concise” scrapbook of my Europe trip while also being overwhelmed with obligatory reading.

This is my stack. DSCN6675



Oh dear. You will see how I try to comfort myself by placing certain fun little chotchkies around the desk, such as my friend the black sheep, perching upon my beloved Terry Eagleton and pile of Latin books. (And I also disagree with you , Urban Dictionary, who claim that chotchkies are “A small piece of worthless crap, a decorative knick knack with little or no purpose.” They clearly have a purpose, duh.)

Perhaps, “as they say,” clutter breeds productivity? But, how excited am I to have several books based on medieval monster theory on my desk?