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I spent half of the residency performing husbandly duties for my MFA-Husband who was moving into a new 1-bedroom apartment alone -- I helped move his fridge, carried the new couch he bought, and spent lots of time in places that sell sheets and shower curtains and other housewares helping him pick out colors and thread counts and designs and telling him when to say no. I came home wanting to buy myself new sheets and duvets and couches. Then yesterday I watched Oprah during breakfast and it was all these "sexy" makeovers of couples' bedrooms, and while we're not really in need of that, the design aspects, the transition to sleek, clutter-free sanctuaries had me looking all over the apartment and looking for ways to revolutionize everything. I went a little too far -- I started to actually hate everything and how it looked, but quickly realized it was just a few certain aspects that could be fixed. Mostly just throwing away stuff I don't need but was piled around. And also consolidating the stereo into a sleeker component system that sounds better and takes up less room.
Of course, I'm sure part of this is all avoidance. I have a novel to write, damnit, not a house to redecorate. But I can maybe do both. Especially since part of me clean-out-the-clutter project involved going through huge piles of magazines, including pulling the articles that serve as research.
Last night was a mini-celebration of my birthday at the Kit Kat Lounge which was quite fun. We stopped by Circuit afterwards for one more drink and a little dancing, but it was a fairly early night, home just after midnight. I sprung awake at 4 am desperately thirsty -- I was dehydrated from the rich salty food at dinner....oh, and the four martinis I drank. I had my hangover early, in the middle of the night when I couldn't go back to sleep, but now I'm feeling okay, but with enough of a reminder of why I don't do it too often.
I have other bigger things to write about, like death and loss and politics and spirituality and craft and art, but I sit down and get caught in the cycle of recounting my life lately. Because even though those details can be inane, they're a helpful supplement to my writing, to journal what's going on in my life, to help me put all the pieces together when I go back and re-read, which I do occasionally.
But all of it is getting pushed to the backburner again, because right now I'm starving and need to eat lunch.
Of course, I'm sure part of this is all avoidance. I have a novel to write, damnit, not a house to redecorate. But I can maybe do both. Especially since part of me clean-out-the-clutter project involved going through huge piles of magazines, including pulling the articles that serve as research.
Last night was a mini-celebration of my birthday at the Kit Kat Lounge which was quite fun. We stopped by Circuit afterwards for one more drink and a little dancing, but it was a fairly early night, home just after midnight. I sprung awake at 4 am desperately thirsty -- I was dehydrated from the rich salty food at dinner....oh, and the four martinis I drank. I had my hangover early, in the middle of the night when I couldn't go back to sleep, but now I'm feeling okay, but with enough of a reminder of why I don't do it too often.
I have other bigger things to write about, like death and loss and politics and spirituality and craft and art, but I sit down and get caught in the cycle of recounting my life lately. Because even though those details can be inane, they're a helpful supplement to my writing, to journal what's going on in my life, to help me put all the pieces together when I go back and re-read, which I do occasionally.
But all of it is getting pushed to the backburner again, because right now I'm starving and need to eat lunch.
