 Blank Slates |
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My birthday is one month from yesterday if anyone's counting. I decided to take a breather from refinancing headaches (mad props to everyone who wrote with invaluable advice, suggestions, and commiseration) and take care of a house-related project with instant gratification, which means that the last two of my bedrooms are getting their floors done. Goodbye, pee-stained, fur-trapping white berber carpet; I will not miss you one tiny bit. Hello, ceramic tile. I'm paying it off over a year with zero interest, which is my favorite way to pay for things. My house is in shambles. My computer is in eight pieces in four different rooms. I have no idea how I am going to put it back together. The cats are probably snacking on the loose wiring as we speak. Emptying a room is a surefire way to bring to one's attention how filthy one's baseboards are. The person who is technically my oldest friend, Addy, came over last night to help me paint shoe molding. We did it outside, shivering and snotting, but we did it. Afterwards we settled in for some pad thai takeout and American Idol, which she had never seen. She squealed and screamed throughout and hid her face behind couch pillows because she can't bear to see people embarrass themselves. It was funnier watching her than watching the actual show. She loves my cats, but she thinks my dogs look like giant rats. The tile looks great so far; he's coming today to grout and nail in the molding, whose nail holes I'll spackle tonight and paint over. Somehow I'm going to get all the furniture where it needs to go, but it will be a big job. I'm putting S.'s computer desk on the curb because it weighs 800 pounds and is very unattractive to boot, and I need as little of his stuff as possible in my house. "Keep the cats and the big TV," Addy instructed, "But ditch that butt ugly desk." Done. I'm thinking of getting this desk, even though I usually like darker wood, because I have some bookshelves in that room that match. I don't know. Having these two empty bedrooms as blank slates makes me want to indulge in spastic fits of redecoration, but I need to reign it in and realize that what I have is perfectly fine, even though I'm truly so sick of these twin bedding sets in my guest room that I could sincerely hurl. I think the problem is that what might look nice on one bigger bed turns into blinding overkill on twins. Alas. All in all, I'm delighted to live in a carpet-free home now. It took several years and a few thousand bucks, but it's worth every penny to have flooring that's easy to clean and nearly impossible to stain with dog urine or cat barf. It's cold, but that is why the Lord created slippers. I still think the majority of the pee pee damage was done when Zuko first moved in and just whizzed like a marking madman, and most of it has been covered with area rugs, so it's not like I lived in aesthetic hell, but I always knew it was there, and it squicked me out, and the fur trapped in the carpet despite regular vacuuming was just unbearable to contemplate. Plus, white dingy carpet makes any room look blah, and this tile is going to brighten everything up considerably. My sister is four for four on law schools so far: Georgetown, Northwestern, NYU, and Berkeley. I can totally see her at Berkeley, and I hope that's where she ends up, if only because I would love to go and visit her there and see people like mo pie, and it's all about me. Plus, they are PAYING to FLY HER OUT to visit. Unbelievable. And awesome. She's off to Georgetown this weekend. I got up at six this morning to drive my sister to the airport, and as I lay there snoozing the alarm clock as many times as possible, I pondered what I have known my entire life: that any position is more comfortable than the idea of getting up. Even if you're a shitty sleeper like I am who has to be in the perfect alignment of head, pillow, arms, legs, blankets, wubbie, floor fan, and oceanic soundmaker in order to fall and stay asleep, once it's time to arise, I could put my feet around my neck or come into the quivering abdominal horror that is full boat pose, as long as I'm at least partially prostrate, and even that would be more appealing than actually putting my feet on the floor. And how I'm able to sleep so soundly in those five minute bursts of snooze time is beyond me, but somehow I am always in a coma each time the post-snooze alarm dings. It is a psychological mystery. I'm choosing to see the rebuilding of my empty rooms with their new tiles as a metaphor for the rebuilding I am doing of myself and my new resolution to be brave. I'm forcing myself not to break out the antibacterial lotion every five seconds and only wiping down my keyboard, mouse, and phone with a germ-killing wet wipe once a day. I'm going to the gym (sometimes) even though I feel inept and clumsy on all of the machines. I'm sleeping better even though the nightmares still sometimes come. I bought samples of The Soap, and if that last resort fails, I will just buck the fuck up and go to the dermatologist. I am going to stop living in fear of my crappy decaying trees falling on my house and my neighbors' houses and get them cut down. I'm going to stop living in fear of my wiring and get it checked out by my mom's trusty electrician. I'm just trying to face these things that scare me and do more and live this one short life with as much livin' as I can. It feels good. I feel good.
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2004 elb |
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