Whew! Am I glad that last post is over or what?
On the other hand, my visitor stats have doubled. Hi everybody!
I’m still working under a deadline, albeit an extended one, on a freelance project.
I’ve learned a little something about myself these last few days. Turns out a reeeally good way to torture me is to place me in a blank area with all my belongings in a large pile and then force me to work on something BESIDES arranging furniture, hanging pictures, organizing cabinets, and generally decorating the space.
It’s damn near impossible. Or it is for me, anyway.
Oh, I try, I do. I’ll be typing away having thoughts, writing words, being all business-like and Productive and then? And then I’ll glance up. Realize that the wall next to the front door is CRYING OUT for my framed “Saturday Evening Post” cover.
It’ll just take a second.
Two hours later, I’ve unpacked and washed the glasses, dragged in a new area rug, shopped online for a fabric with which to recover my throw pillows, tried my vintage vase in fourteen different places in the living room (and it’s not a big living room), arranged my CDs by genre, and re-read the first chapter of “The Borrowers” after pulling it unexpectedly from a box containing a bunch of dog-eared books from my childhood.
I’ve come to think of them as Design Seizures.
But that’s not the worst of it.
No, the worst of it is that, having untangled my belongings from the Ex-Man’s (heh! No extra charge for that one ), I’ve realized just how retro my stuff is, taken as a whole. It’s practically Leave it to Beaver up in here…seriously. It’s all fifties all the time. The fifties-style couch, dinette set, prints, lamps; it’s crazy.
And, God help me when I get hold of A Theme. (You’ll recall the tiny?)
Yesterday, during a particularly intense Design Seizure things got. A little out of hand.
I’ll just admit right now that I fashioned a side table (because a girl needs a place to sit her wine) out of a plant stand, a paper plate and a deviled egg dish. A vintage fifties-style deviled egg dish. You know, the kind your mom has in the back of the cabinet in case of a sudden funeral or holiday; the sort of thing that was a wedding present from aunt Velma?
Think I’m kidding?
Trouble is, I can’t decide if it’s fabulous or fugly. And that’s where you come in.