Finding my nook

Took most of Saturday to scrape, haul, and dig my way back to the lonely little cramped corner I call my own. My table, my shelves full of paint, my brushes, hand stamps, magnifying glass, and glues, still there waiting for me. Ah.... I love this little corner, decorated with lights, pictures, bowls, and jars full of all sorts of things, ideas mostly, and dreams, lots of those. I had to fight for this little nook two years ago. Stood tall against my hubby, demanded my space, my honor, my presence in the workroom, until I won my rightly due. That's what it felt like anyway and I was proud. Took great care to spruce it up, make it right, accessorize. Got one big collage project out before the Hep C revolution hit, then nothing since. I used it a few times as a hiding place before treatment, but once the meds started all visitation stopped. That's when my space became the abandoned dumping ground, a storage unit for broken excess, a deserted pleasure palace overgrown with dust, dead bugs, and beastly clutter. But no more. Two large bags of trash later, three bundles of magazines to the trunk for future recycling and loads and loads of sweeping, dusting, coughing and sputtering and my lovely little corner is back, relieved, renewed, reborn, a year and a half in hiding. Spent the rest of the afternoon (bean was at my parents and the hubby was out of town) working and reworking an idea that may never come to light. Felt great even without product, just because I could lean, stand, reach, and create, clear in mind, strong in strength, and then just leave my stuff out where it will remain, untouched, until I return. Which I have many times already, if only just to peek at the perfection, my little corner of bliss, all mine.