On Sharing My Space

Ever since we moved into this place I've been begging him to give it up to me.

The mancave, that is.

For whatever reason, the mancave is my go-to writing space. It promotes my creative flow despite the wood paneling and pink valences. Or maybe because of it.

Scott used to claim that it would never be mine.

But that was before I told him he could use my office for a home-gym.

After two years, victory was mine.

I got it.  And then I didn't want it anymore. Turns out the mancave comes with a price: sharing. First of all, there's no way we can get rid of the couches up there. Second, there's no other room to put our spare flat panel. Third, where else would we keep the projector, the PS3, the Purdue clock I have no idea why we own, and the ridiculous collection of mountain biking DVDs?

So I'm moving back to my old office. It's the only room in the house that I will have complete and utter control over (you know, besides the kitchen, the living room, the family room, and all the bedrooms). I'm going to paint the walls purple and hang up butterflies and bitchy and/or inspirational quotes.

I'm not going to share it, it's going to be beautiful, and, most importantly? It's just plain mine.