Not only did I not do any dishes, but I also managed to paint the drain in the sink a bright fire red. There is a large, collapsed cardboard box taking up a good portion of the kitchen floor and a ball of scotch tape stuck to the wall. The beginning of my project is lying in the middle of the living room floor along with a screwdriver and some jute twine. There are various screws and hinges lying around on the computer table and paint chips littered on the office floor.
I have to have the apartment cleaned up by Wednesday evening as well as have this birthday present finished. The cleaning part, I can handle. That is very straightforward. If I see that something is messy, dirty, or out of place, I know what to do about it. The project, though, is another matter entirely. I have to be creative, which I am fairly good at, but I ran out of creative juice yesterday afternoon and have been staring at the first stages of the thing ever since.
I didn’t plan this thing very well, you see. I had it in my head that I wanted to make something for his birthday, because I am so horrible when it comes to buying presents. I can never seem to find the right thing. So, I decided to make something, and I had an idea as far as colours and supplies went and what it would be, but I never planned what I was going to do with those supplies as far as how this thing is supposed to look. It could be monstrously ugly, and I may be weeping as I hand over the piece feeling utterly defeated, but I have warned the Fiery One that he must be very appreciative for the effort I have put in if not for his gift’s aesthetics.
I have a long history of making strange, gaudy crap that hangs around until I can’t stand to look at it anymore and must trash it. There was the lampshade I made out of Chinet plates, masking tape, paper mache, housepaint, magazines, yarn, old spices, and a lot of glue. There was the three or four foot tall green Buddha-like figure with X’s for eyes made out paper mache, old hockey sticks, chicken wire, and tempera paint lacquered over with Varathane. There is a clock in the computer room made from an old cd, string, tinfoil, chinese black ink, and acrylic hobby paint. If you want something that is aesthetically offensive, if your home or office is begging for an eyesore, I’m your woman.
At any rate, I am going to do my best to create the least ugly birthday present I can, and I am going to make my apartment look beautiful and do laundry. The Fiery One will be so proud of me.
I nearly did something on the weekend that may very well have driven the Fiery One crazy when he came home. As much as I wanted to do this crazy thing, I held myself back, because I thought that doing something of such magnitude required the full consent of my spouse.
This crazy thing which I did not do was first thought of after this following incident:
I was lying in bed on Friday night at 3 am, desperately trying to fall asleep. It took me a couple of hours, but I finally had myself on the edges of unconsciousness when I heard a loud cracking sound directly above my side of the bed. I leapt to my feet and raced into the hall, where I stood naked and bewildered, unable to make out what had happened in my room, as I was without my glasses and there were no lights on. After some consideration, I bolted in, grabbed my glasses, switched on the lamp on the night table, and scurried back out. From the hallway, I looked up at the ceiling above my bed. The paint had broken away from the ceiling and a large crack had spread across it. Was it just the paint that had given way, or was my ceiling indeed working on eventually crashing down upon me as I slept? This question has yet to be answered, so I have been sleeping on the futon in the living room and avoiding the bedroom except for when I need new underwear.
The crazy thing I wanted to do was move all of our bedroom furniture into the living room and most of the living room furniture into the bedroom. I gave this idea an extra dose of justification by thinking that this would create a warmer, cozier environment for our television / reading space, and the noise of the television would no longer compete for attention with the person trying to concentrate at the computer. Also, I’ve never really liked the way our bedroom feels as a room to sleep in, and we can hear the door buzzer to our building at all hours in that room, so sleeping in the living room would have its benefits.
Doesn’t this sound like a great idea? I thought so, too, but I also thought that if the Fiery One arrived home from his trip to find half the rooms in our apartment being used all wrong, he might worry about my emotional welfare. Fiery One, if you are reading this, can we can we can we? Please?
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