I sold my piano a month ago. I've played piano all my life. I'm pretty good, and can tackle Real music -- Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin.
But I live in a small house, I hadn't played the piano in a long time, and didn't feel we could really afford to take up those 8 square feet of precious floor space with something that had become a large, inefficient (and dusty) storage for clutter.
So, I sold it, put half the proceeds into our savings account, and used the other half to buy a bookcase with a file drawer at the bottom, and a table. A nice black-and-birch, big, smooth, sleek table. Yay, IKEA!
Upon that table sits my SAD light, my laptop, my funky fake-gem-keyed calculator, a notebook and a pen. Because this is my WORKSPACE, baby!
I am so thrilled.
Yes, the wires are tres chic, I know. We'll sort that out shortly. Maybe. And here is my funky diva-woman calculator. The keys are more glittery than shown. (I am a writer. Do I NEED a calculator? No, but I wanted it. And now I have it. And my desk. HA.)