What was even more annoying was the way she worked. The only sensible place was the kitchen table, but all her books and papers would have to be moved for every meal. She’d lose things, smash dishes as she reached for pens, spill pizza sauce and chocolate ice cream on important letters, etc. When she couldn’t be bothered clearing the table, I’d come home to find her hunched up on the floor in the corner of a room, rodent-like, her legs all heat-rash splotched from the laptop fan or sprawled on our bed with her typing hands crunched up in front of her face like little t-rex arms. It was sad.
One chilly March day we were binning a Christmas tree that had sat forgotten in the hallway closet and was now attracting alarming hoards of wood lice. As we dragged it into the hall, my wife’s eyes lit up.
‘This could be my office!’ I gave her a skeptical look. ‘Why not? Oh please! I’m small! Really, look how small I go!’ She curled into a fetal position on the floor amidst pine needles, sap and wood louse corpses to demonstrate. ‘It’ll be great!’
‘Look at the boiler.’ I grunted under the weight of the tree she was no longer helping stabilise.
‘So?’ She bum wriggled over and pushed ineffectively against the massive metal pod with her feet. ‘We’ll put it somewhere else. Like… uh…’
I sighed. ‘It’s a boiler. It’s attached to lots of things that are really very important. We can’t just move it…’ She was so excited; I hated to be the voice of reason. I looked around to try to find another way to explain to her how it would be impossible, when suddenly, I wondered if it was really so impossible after all.
And thus: the Nano office. In one weekend we transformed a useless space into a whimsical little office. You too could find secret, unused nooks and crannies in your home and make a place where you can focus on doing what you love most.