In my room there is an alcove.
It is about three feet wide and two-and-a-half feet deep. I don’t know what the designer meant to go in this little enclave. It’s too small for a bed and too large to serve a decorative purpose. It looks like someone took a Lego chunk out of my house’s interior.
We never really figured out how to make it any less awkward a space. I stuck a bureau in there for a while. Then we built some shelves, and the biggest one morphed into a desk where I have a computer and a skewer I use to unlock doors.
I meant to paint the desk. I just didn’t, so it remains a grey-brown wood composite color. Unable to stomach the plain expanse of unattractiveness, I took to drawing on it. I went through an unwarranted phase where all I could doodle were Communist figureheads.
Now it’s cluttered with a bunch of tiny drawings of Chairman Mao Zedong.