My T's room is not small. Her large desk against a large picture window looking out on a small grassy area with trees and birds come along.
Her chair, 2 office/upholstered chairs, and the couch where I sit.

From the wall to the right of the entry is a wall, about 12 feet long, has a series of 3' high shelves with 3 shelves. On all the shelves are toys. Stuffed animals, soft baby dolls, a few games, rubber snake, and the top is nearly entirely covered with small figures (for the sand tray, I assume).

Nest wall..No computer. Picture of her daughter on her desk. Vertical blinds pulled open, a slat or two fallen on the floor behind her desk. Under her desk a curled area rug, her satchel with papers/files, her bag (purse), often a shopping bag from a clothing store; she has an ever-updating and fabulous wardrobe that I adore. A lamp. Doll house on top at one side. Filing cabinet beside the desk by the doll house. Sand tray on top of the filing cabinet.

3rd wall: Chair, table (the small table with the drawer that has a keyhole in it and from which hangs a wooden key'ring'), lamp on that table that has an elephant base, chair, corner table with book props and a plant.

4th wall: Couch beside the corner table, doorway. Large pretty, calming painting of a garden path and garden behind me that I don't get the luxury of seeing.

In front of the couch a plastic parsons table with the kleenex.

I'm feeling "phfffft" with T and therapy right now or I might be kinder or more expressive about the room. As it happens, the room sometimes--like now-- drives me nuts because it feels cluttered to me and I can't think in clutter. So I stare out the window. I feel more out there than in there anyway.