I write where I can, it's part of the beauty of wireless internet, laptops, tablets, etc. My desk is where I intended to write and work. It is covered in about three inches of loose papers, notes, emails and various other piles. There is a bookshelf that has overflowed to the desk as well. The wireless printer takes up a good quarter of the remaining space. My gigantic black cat takes up most of the office chair and keeps it laden with hair. The lamp on the wall that is something I scavenged from a hotel that was getting rid of them (you know the ones with the shade and the little dial/knob that turns them on, brighter, and off...that kind.) Well, that lamp attracts Asian Beetles, and there is a hole in my ceiling right above the desk, so occasionally I get a scrap of something strange from between the levels of our old farmhouse that floats down to my desk. So, as it seems, I write on top of a mountain of debris, beneath the rubble of projects that have been placed on so many back burners.
I share the space with my recumbent bike and my sons' Step 2 Kitchen. Or, maybe more appropriately, the cat tolerates my presence in his nap nook. So, my intended writing space is not where I spend a lot of time. Even now as I type, I'm doing so from the couch, watching The Croods with my son. I sometimes switch to the chair. I've even been known to take my business into the bathroom, where I can actually read a whole article start to finish. Do they make a toilet with some kind of desk? I might have to look into that to get anything done! My family will think I have IBS, when really, I'm just trying to keep up with my writing!