So, one of my BFF's called me, and we were deeply in angst. See, we're writers. We're married. and we're total space cases.
She and I are the ENFPesque creative, feeling types, prone to flights of imagination many mere mortals cannot dream to aspire to. Mortal men like our husbands.
They're not really feeling the creative thing. Now, it was all good when they were pursuing us before we got married. Heck, before we were dating. They wanted all that feeling. They had high hopes for creativity, and let me tell you, in some notable ways we delivered! But I assure you, having married us, now, to them our charms are faded, and they'd rather have the dishes done than have us hovering over a computer, enraptured, with an expression on our faces that looks like a statue of a Catholic saint in the throes of ecstasy. If you don't quite know what that looks like, try sister Teresa of Avila here:
And you wonder why I like her so much.
Anyway, BFF and significant other had a painful conversation that made her feel like doo doo. It doesn't take much for people like us to feel like excrement anyway. We really take words to heart. I felt her pain. So I suggested--because I am insane--that we start a PROGRAM. Like house cleaning bootcamp or something. We talk every Monday through Friday morning. We pray. We do things like the Fly Lady Program, or Messie's Manual. We work it. Creative and ecstatic or NOT!
So, I get up even though I'd only slept one hour and so wanted to go back to sleep after the kids went to school. I call BFF and she was EXERCISING.
Okay. She'd kicked it up a notch. I was gonna have to sympathy clean AND exercise. And I wasn't ready for all that. And we have to do this before we write.
Did I say I wasn't ready to exercise? Even though I declared in this public forum I want to lose 25lbs before I go to Africa?
I get started cleaning instead. I chose a single room--ambitious on deadline yes, but sometimes I'm a dynamic, highly motivated starter. I just don't finish much. So, I'm gonna do my "office." This is what should be my dining room, but we ditched the dining table because we have a "bar" in the kitchen. I got six bar stools and called the bar a table. The room was supposed to become a den, and we really did put a sofa in there. Remember Bad A** Leather sofa I told you about last year? Well, now it's Raggedy A** Leather sofa. But I get creative with mudcloth and other African textiles.
So my completely unused armoire desk in there. And my writing book bookshelf. And I feel perpetually guilty because my desk is really a place to store my kitsch. And I love my kitsch. So, I'm gonna clean my "office" slash den, thinking maybe I'll actually want to work in there.
Okay, I'll tell you right now that RAL sofa had become a clothes hamper. We have a family of six now, and two or three extras milling about. And we all leave clothes on RAL sofa because after living in ranch houses in Ann Arbor for years we are are loathe to climb the steps and take the clothes to the bedrooms and put them away. We apparently also have difficulty with folding. So, the den, in general, is always a HOT MESS!
I had to approach Mt. Fold-me of RAL sofa and fold and put away every garment, and find a place for mystery clothes I had no idea who belonged to. This called for old school music. I started off with light-skin boy bands with falsetto voices popular in black communities in the seventies. Got going with Switch. Moved on to Heatwave. Next I went darker and let The Manhattan's tell me why loving me was all that's on their mind. I added the three elements: Earth, Wind, and Fire, and had Reasons to fold.
When I finished RAL sofa looked like this:
Which is an improvement. You have no idea.
Dang. Isn't my place uninteresting? I so need good art. Nigerian basketry only takes you so far. But this, Murder, Mayhem readers, is what Jazz would call Shabby Chic meets Africa. Only Bell has more chic. And Mair has more shabby.
This is my desk and bookshelf. I'm salty because Ken puts his hats on top of my bookshelf, but what can a sistah do? The little stand in between is where I keep my art supplies for my completely undone art work. And my room just isn't my room without the saints, and right there in the middle of my desk, is a really cool black Jesus that looks like this:
I love my black Jesus. I needed color in my life.
Anyway. If nothing else, I'm ambitious. I'll keep you posted on how this goes.
Gotta go, lovies. I have to write some more before I do YOGA!
Darn that even more ambitious BFF!
pax et bonum!