My partner and I live in a small apartment in the town of Rossland, BC. I picked up the faux-wood desk at a Salvation Army and have commandeered a corner of our faux-granite countertop. Out the window is both the encircling mountain range (which reminds me to take our dog, Maisy, for some snowshoeing) and the municipal parking lot (which reminds me of how fortunate I am to work from home and not have to scrape ice of my windshield each morning, because the sound of a plastic blade against frozen glass is surely the sound of the soul dying). Sometimes I feel like a zoo animal when skiers from out of town walk by and gawk. Once, a child with a runny nose actually KNOCKED ON THE WINDOW AND STAYED THERE until I lowered the Venetian blinds. But the foot traffic also provides some accountability and keeps me clear of the more embarrassing and time-leeching corners of the internet. My favourite part of this workspace is Maisy's cubby, where she curls at my feet, snores, and barks at precisely the time I am least expecting it. Note the Post-It covering the computer's webcam; this way, the government cannot spy on me while I openly weep as I stare into the abyss of draft number seven.
Photos provided by Richard Kemick and Flickr user steph_abegg