So my lease is up in July and I am excited that my next place will have enough space for me to have my very own Virginia Woolf-inspired room all to myself. I'm in the process of selecting some pretty unique pieces to layer through it with the hope that it will turn out to look like the rooms in those expensive magazines. I'm afraid that my hopes are set way too high and that the moment I actually USE the room, it will organically transform into a clutter magnet. As my foot passes into the liminal space of the threshold, each rogue candy wrapper, mate-less sock, stray water bottle and half-eaten bagel will migrate silently into a corner and take up residence. The dog will discover this to be his prime shedding locale and clean laundry will host cocktail parties on the love seat. At some point, there will need to be an intervention.