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  • It took me all this time to give myself permission to be messy, and to go from square to round. There is no love without being messy. There is no writing. Years ago, a friend of mine, an architect, told me that the human body reacts better to round shapes. They're more organic, closer to the womb. I took this information with me all along, but never thought I would be doing much about it.

    Lately, my house has been slowly morphing, as my life has been turning into a shape I still don't recognise. Experimenting, travelling, breaking my own shell and letting my heart be broken, I got stuck with my next book. I began fidgeting, wasting time around the old square table, waiting for something special to show up again. Refusing the longitude and latitude. Opening and closing my computer. Staring at the blank page. I started doodling, I started drawing maps. I kept bumping into the corners of my table. I realized I needed room to spread my maps. To be able to create again, I needed a place to spread my mess - papers, photos, open books, little notes. I needed a dark round cave flickering with the light of candles. I craved a place where I could try and make mistakes and try again. I needed a moon. I needed a place that looked like the circle of your arms.

    I became obsessed with the idea of a wooden round table, and started thinking that if I could only have it, I would write again. I was annoyed by my own whim. I was acutely aware of rituals, of the magical thinking involved with the round table, likely leading to nothing. But I still wanted it, dreamt it, built the whole room around its absence, and saved for it.

    The day the round table was delivered, the guy who sold it to me stopped by for coffee and we talked a bit about his childhood memories.
    The day the round table arrived, I wrote for six hours straight. I forgot to eat. That day is today.

    Round table, round lamp, round vases. My own round butt, round hips. The shape that our hands love and make and understand.
    It is - there's no doubt about it - just a table.

    Oh but, after all, weren't all sorts of brave knights ready to die for the quest that began with a round table?
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