The overdue HLC post

I have reincarnated the Hateful Little Corner. The devilishly red little desk that was the setting of so many moments (hours, days, months) of my self-flagellation. The symbol of the shit, booze, drugs, the confusion, fear, pain, the hedonism of days past. That refuge from health and balance and serenity. It has been prettified. Stripped, sanded, painted, relocated to the office on the second floor; the room with good light. It is going into a witness protection program. But I will know. I will always know.



It was the first piece of new furniture I ever bought for myself. Found it at a funky place in L.A., on La Brea. It was $450, but I talked him down to $400. That was in 1999. I knew it was overpriced, but I didn't really care. It was the only thing that wasn't a hand-me-down in my studio apartment in Beechwood Canyon.



I took my time with this project. The inspiration began when I refinished the little cabinet that was part of what K used to call my "chippy yellow" collection. The steps were simple, really, good for a beginner. I sanded it down, painted it a bright glossy white, and add some cute knobs from Anthropologie.



I decided to do the same with the desk. This time I had a little more experience. I spent a day sanding, slowly easing off the red stain, the layers of cigarette smoke, bits of candle wax, crushed pills in the grain. Ink spots, water rings. I primed it, sanded again, running my hands over the surface to be sure it was smooth, knowing I wouldn't be able to hide every imperfection. Nor did I need to.



A week later I finished it off with some thick and hardy coats of white enamel paint. Let them really dry well before starting with the next one. The original matching hutch piece doesn’t work with the new office layout, so I’m using it as a makeshift bookshelf up in my other little nook. It is still red. While I was waiting for the desk to dry, I recovered an ikea desk chair with some boy-friendly Marimekko fabric, a little pattern to contrast the clean white.



There is no room in my life for the HLC that was. Fortunately, most of the time I don’t think about it, don’t remember how to get there. Other times, it is so hard to not go to that place. It beckons me almost obscenely, in a way that makes me want it, need it, like a hard fuck. Other times, it doesn’t even occur to me. It's just a different life now. A life where I use a coaster on the desk, which is just a desk, and no longer a hateful little corner.