Me and Ava and the Table Makes Three

Lately, I have been feeling more like a writer than ever. This confidence in calling myself a writer really began months ago, when I got Ava. The laptop makes me feel legitimate. It also allows me to be writing pretty much regardless of where I am. Then, on Sunday night, I put the laptop on the dining room table, spread my books out, plugged in my mouse, and unscrewed the cap on my bottle of sparkling juice, and I haven't looked back since. I think my couch-writing days are over. The table somehow forces me to be more serious about what I'm doing on the laptop, and—interestingly—the cat sort of digs it too. He likes it when people are working in his presence, and he likes to sit under the table or stretch out under the chair while I'm here on the computer. Tonight I (and by "I," I mean "Andy") made a pot of coffee because everyone knows that writers drink coffee. Well, it was either coffee or gin, and I seem to be taking a break from alcohol. The coffee feels good, though. I may make it a habit. It can't be worse for my teeth than sparkling juice.

I can't really express in words how content I feel here at the table with my laptop and my books. I know Andy wishes I would work in the office, at my desk, but I enjoy his company too much. I would be too tempted to talk to him and would be distracted from my work. We really need separate spaces. Plus, it's really messy in there. Maybe it's a process and I'm working my way toward the office. Of course, the dining room is in the opposite direction...