I feel I am surfing the great swirlie of life.
Round and round and round we go.
All the good work I keep getting done gets undone as more of my chaos is first unravelled only to be reincorporated elsewhere as some other organization thingie-ma-jobby. And in the days between when I have the time or energy or will to tackle it, I'm left with visible clutter needing sorting. Behind all the closed drawers and doors: Order. Right now, it just doesn't look it.
But at least I keep making bits of progress, and the more of that that I have, the equal amount of chaos-former is also undone. So, win-win, but slow and frustrating on the journey.
After a few days of losing steam, I'm starting to feel the cracklings of energy firing up again, so... More to do, but hopefully momentum's on my side.
The blah, blah, and more blah season's finally on the ebb now, and daylight stirring before 7am is tweaking my biological clock. Allah be praised and all. Jesus, too.
This weekend will be huge if it all unfolds as I hope. Getting rid of sideboard. Acquiring a rich old desk of promise. Rearranging some furniture. Downsizing my bedroom. Ditching the damned boxes everywhere.
Oh, my bedroom. Such high hopes I have. I think I have two priorities in my life right now. Okay, three. Rework the bedroom all over. Get scooter well. Poor scooter. I've been feeding him badly. Again with the too rich synthetic oil. Carburator clog's even worse than the last one was. I. Hate. It! Then there's souping up my laptop with a big-ass hard drive and at least a gig of RAM. Self-explanatory, that. Oh, then there's the organizing. Then there's the fitness, and the diet. All right. Six priorities in life. Outside the obvious of work and writing. "Two" sounded so nice.
Then there's my bedroom. Ahh. I finally know how to make it all work. I think I can afford it next month, too. It'll be a radical departure. Out with the chocolate brown and sand. In with a cross between a spring and sage green, all over, even the ceiling. I plan to stretch my artistic reach a little and try designing my own funky floral stencil. Big-ass one with a couple smaller ones, but really minimalist and modern. A floral twist on a sprig of clover, inspired by the inset. Thick cream border with either a maroon centre, or chocolate brown. Just in one corner, my to-be-a-reading-nook corner.
I want a feminine bedroom. I haven't had that since I was a kid... and I'm not a kid anymore. I want a womanly feminine bedroom. Modern, clean, simple, smart. Buying a bed for it. Something very cool and platform-ish from Ikea that I just love. Very modern, very sleek. Simple lines. And no footer. Footers feel too boxy, coffinish. Trying a really crafty approach to my nightstand that once was my folks'. Strip it, then paint the boxy body of it sage green and the one drawer the same colour that's in the flower, maroon or chocolate. But for the outside, I have a funky idea for a treatment on top of the painting that involves sourcing some metal meshing or something similar. I want it unique.
The only other furniture will be my rocker and a 1915 wood-cased Singer sewing machine that most people don't believe is a sewing machine. Yep. Modern meets 1920, methinks. Estimate? Paint: $50-60. Bed: $240. New duvet (because to have a new bedroom and my crap old comforter would be unthinkable): $60. Duvet cover: $60. New sheets: $30. So, $450? Purty damned good, considering it includes a whole new bed. I need no accessories, nor trinkets. I'm set. Furniture rocks, aside from the creaky crap homemade thing Dad made me. There's only so much you can do with an electric saw and a power drill. Sigh.
You know, the last time I really loved my bedroom, I was 15. Isn't that sad? Just wrong, that's what that is.
Hence why when I lie in bed at night I'm fantasizing about this beautiful new bedroom of mine. No, really. The painting will take a weekend, likely. The flowers, another week, maybe. Slow, deliberate. Sometime next month though.
I got to say, the first time I thought "Wow, I need to quit this job" last year was when my then boss came over, took a good look around my place, and said "You've got too much time on your hands."
And I thought "No, that's precisely the problem. I haven't any of it..." Fuck. Some people want to work for a "living". Other people want to work so they can do a little living. Pick your battles, man.
That I'm making my life this pressed with projects means one thing. Work's not the demanding place it was.
Hell, I've wanted to do all these things for a long time. First, I was injured pretty much solidly for a year and a half. Then I was broke off my ass off and on a long time. Then I just got consumed with work for a year or so. Now, I'm finally getting a little balance back. It's good. I need it. Bad.
I'll show pictures of all my little projects. I'm so excited. Can't wait to see what happens with everything. Getting all these things done will be just the kind of accomplishments I need to have right now.
I'm just NOT HAPPY ABOUT ALL THE GODDAMNED WORK.
But thank god I got me a little time on me hands, hey? Snicker.
Okay. I'm telekinetically inflicting a can of whoop-ass on the motherfucking truck driver who is REVERSING 3/4 of a block up my alley at 9-FUCKING-30 pm, with that goddamned "beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep beepbeepbeep yes,i'mreallyreversing" alarm I REALLY BLOODY HATE.
Know how long it took? Just shy of four minutes! THREE-QUARTERS OF A BLOCK!
AND THE KICKER?
The alleyway can be accessed from both ends. All he had to do, was circle the block and enter the right fucking way.
He even woulda been able to park easier! If only he had entered the right fucking way.
Okay. I'm taking a deep breath. But in the recesses of my mind, I'm kicking his ass.
Common sense? Fucking rarity, really. How stupid do these people have to be? Quite, apparently. What, is there some regional equivalent of a intellectual brownout going on? What the fuck? Oh, right. It's February.
Deep breath. Snicker. Better than therapy, every bloody time. Blogger: Good for ya! Take two!
Labels: bedroom, decorating, RANT, RANTING