Can you say, Tasmanian Devil? That would be me since Monday night,which is why yesterday's post was a photo of my yard blanketed in snow. I'd been painting Claire's bedroom for four hours straight, a lovely shade called White Heron. I was sweaty and paint-spattered. What better time for a winter in June photo, right?
The paint job came on the heels of moving Claire (and all her things) into the study where I had recently relocated my *writing room since Dad moved in. In the heat of the moment on Monday night, we thought, okay, let's make the switch. First, Michael needed to take apart Claire's old-fashioned teacher's desk. The damn thing is so big, Michael had to take the door off, which accidentally hit the spinning ceiling fan, snapping one of the blades and sending it into the air.
Are you following me?
This morning I had a feeling that the three large bookcases needed to be together in one room, so I single-handedly moved the one from our downstairs bedroom up the stairs to the new study; a feat I shall not repeat in this lifetime. Any sane person would've waited for their spouse to come home to help, but why wait? All those years as a single mom made me a one-woman, furniture-moving, total crazy person. I'll use anything to pull things across floors and up stairs; rugs, towels, sheets. Who the hell needs weight training when you can move furniture all by yourself? (I know some of you are reading this and nodding, yes.)
Are you still following me?
Okay, so right now, I am at my desk which now sits in front of the window in our bedroom. There are no filing cabinets, no staplers, not even a printer down here. Just my desk, a lamp, my laptop, and a window.
I am like a dog that keeps circling around til it finds the right spot. I think I've landed. For now.
*Read "Displace Writer/Space Wanted" 5/2/10
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