There are many great combos in life; french fries and ketchup, Batman and Robin, coffee and my mouth, and (drum roll, please) books and sunshine. It’s the perfect pairing, and this room is a comfortably complete addition to that grouping. It tidily intersects natural lighting with a handsomely useful workspace, and then throws in the mother of all reading nooks for good measure. Who wouldn’t love to nestle in that monstrous window seat with a good glass of something, and just disappear into a few hundred pages (or into the view, which I’m imagining is stellar)? And a fireplace, too? C’mon, it doesn’t get any better. This, my friends, is most certainly a book lover’s room.
Have you ever wondered what it would be like to sleep in a library? Apparently, so did the owners of this week’s space. And what a lovely dream that they’ve manifested; from this photo alone, it’s pretty obvious that they love books. To such a degree that they’ve lined their bedroom with them…now that’s love. If only all of that information would cascade down over the shelves each night, like a storm of words, and fill one’s head with all of their wisdom. This, friends, is a book lover’s room.
We grab our selected books…we kick back with our drink of choice…and then we ooze into a soft chair and dive eyes first into the beautiful sea of words. How awesome would it be if this were the room, and these were the chairs? I was instantly drawn to this room due to its hidden fort sort of vibe; it has a rugged and rustic charm that plays well with the simplicity of its added comforts. A quaint, sturdy little space seemingly tucked away gently from the rest of the home, plush chairs nestled under a sunlit window, and an army of books standing at attention. I’ll take it. This is a book lover’s room.
The day that my potato exploded in the microwave was an eye opener. It was a sign…an omen. A message from the powers that be. Maybe I’d nuked that fucker for too long, or maybe I just didn’t give a shit. Either way, that little vegetable bastard decided to commit culinary suicide and blew itself spud first all over the confines of the microwave with a mere five seconds left. I mean, c’mon…it couldn’t have kept its composure for a measly five more seconds? Suck it up, god damn it! I had no money left, I had no lunch, and I was hungry enough to eat the scum out of the bottom of a homeless man’s shoes. It was definitely a sign…an omen…a message from the powers that be.
So I really like this room. My love for it was instantaneous. The quiet intimacy of this room, even without the candles (an impressive touch, I might add), is superb. The high ceilings and cushy furniture (and table…good for the coffee and the whiskey) add just a touch of the cozy and a fine dose of comfort to really pull the small space together. And the doors are a great, clever touch to keep the world (and noise) at bay when need be. This, my friends, is a book lover’s room.
I spent a great deal of time staring up at the sky. It was a lovely way to pass the hours. There was something about passing planes that sort of mystified me; it was their mystery that enveloped me and roped me in relentlessly. Who was flying? Where were they coming from, and where were they going? When I’ve flown, I’ve always looked down upon the houses, the buildings, the little towns, and wondered who was there…what their lives were like, what they did, and if they were looking up at me, wondering who I was and where I was heading. So when I look up, there’s that inherent desire to travel with them, the lofty anticipation of having a destination, and the inevitable excitement and adventure that seems to accompany it. It’s the excitement that was the allure there…it broke the monotony of the computer screen and scattered it to bits. Planes represented excitement…and tugged my mind away from the off key melody of keyboard clicks. And as a professional dreamer, it was just what the doctor ordered.