I write in my home office that doubles as a guest room (thank goodness we don’t have many guests), a TV room and a place to dump the laundry.
The room contains a desk with a computer, a low chair (I cut down the legs of the desk to deal with this), two windows, a wall of book shelves, my kids’ artwork, a concrete statue of a dryad, my father-in-law’s mother’s fold-up wooden rocker where she breastfed six children and several resident spiders.