The light in my computer den has burned out.
This bit of household entropy will necessitate action in the near future, but right now I'm writing by the light of a small bedside lamp perched in the window beside my desk. I have the blinds drawn over the lamp, reducing its glare to a soft glow that radiates between the closed horizontal slats and gives me just enough light to make out the keys on my black keyboard.
This dusky light gives my sterile, unadorned little space a whole new cozy feel that I already know I'm going to miss when I finally get around to changing the bulb.
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