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Neavin, Jennifer
Dr. Timmerman
Composition I
05 October 2013
The Old Desk Drawer
The first room in my house, when I walk into the front door, is the family room. In the center of the family room, there is an old wooden desk. It was once a shiny white, but the value has decreased over the years. The once shiny new white paint has begun to increasingly fade. There is an old gum collection on the right side. The stickers, I stuck on as a child, have either faded, been torn off, or had others stuck over them. The drawers have become harder to open, and the gold handle paint is starting to peel off. The drawer on the top right is the hardest one to open. The only sure way I am able to get into this drawer is by pulling the handle extremely slow. I mean so slowly a turtle could climb to the top of Mount Everest before I finished pulling it open. As it often gets stuck, I cannot just yank it open. I have to gently pull the handle at a slow pace, even then I can only open it two-thirds of the way. As I pull the handle, I am immediately greeted with an obnoxious scraping noise. Once I have succeeded in opening the drawer, I am instantaneously hit with a strong citrus scent. This is complementary of William, my seven year old brother, who insists on throwing potpourri in there. If I want to find anything in this desk, you are going to have to dig through mounds of potpourri. I rarely ever get into this drawer, as I am almost never up for the challenge. The only real reason I look in here is for the abundant stack of lined notebook paper, on the bottom of the drawer. On top of the stack of paper, are an abundance of brightly colored pencils scattered around. The pencils and paper seem to work together to make an office sandwich, of some sort. They hold together the endless amount of stickers accumulated over the years, the never ending paper clips, random stray staples, and the odd grocery store receipt. I always tell people that I plan on cleaning this drawer
Dr. Timmerman
Composition I
05 October 2013
The Old Desk Drawer
The first room in my house, when I walk into the front door, is the family room. In the center of the family room, there is an old wooden desk. It was once a shiny white, but the value has decreased over the years. The once shiny new white paint has begun to increasingly fade. There is an old gum collection on the right side. The stickers, I stuck on as a child, have either faded, been torn off, or had others stuck over them. The drawers have become harder to open, and the gold handle paint is starting to peel off. The drawer on the top right is the hardest one to open. The only sure way I am able to get into this drawer is by pulling the handle extremely slow. I mean so slowly a turtle could climb to the top of Mount Everest before I finished pulling it open. As it often gets stuck, I cannot just yank it open. I have to gently pull the handle at a slow pace, even then I can only open it two-thirds of the way. As I pull the handle, I am immediately greeted with an obnoxious scraping noise. Once I have succeeded in opening the drawer, I am instantaneously hit with a strong citrus scent. This is complementary of William, my seven year old brother, who insists on throwing potpourri in there. If I want to find anything in this desk, you are going to have to dig through mounds of potpourri. I rarely ever get into this drawer, as I am almost never up for the challenge. The only real reason I look in here is for the abundant stack of lined notebook paper, on the bottom of the drawer. On top of the stack of paper, are an abundance of brightly colored pencils scattered around. The pencils and paper seem to work together to make an office sandwich, of some sort. They hold together the endless amount of stickers accumulated over the years, the never ending paper clips, random stray staples, and the odd grocery store receipt. I always tell people that I plan on cleaning this drawer