THIS is a fabulous poster that will be framed and hung in a place of honor in my new writing room. It is a gift from my devious sister-in-crime, Anna Adams. For those of you not familiar with this painting, the title is ‘Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette’ by an obscure painter Dutch painter named Vincent Van Gogh. (possibly a self-portrait, but hard to tell without the flesh).
It will hang in my writing room. IF IT EVER GETS BUILT.
To wit: I have mentioned to Coe, off an on, for at least the last year, that I am taking the unused “formal” living room and turning it into a writing room. I have complained to Coe since Thanksgiving that our designer has not called me back to get said project started and I suspect he’s avoiding me. Says Coe, “Brian just lives across the street. Why don’t you hunt him down and kill him.” Coe is such a smart ass. If I kill Brian, I’ll never get my writing room done. Duh.
Finally, I actually booked AN APPOINTMENT with Brian for today. Oh joy! I tell Coe on Friday. “I’m seeing Brian on Monday!” Sunday, I am measuring, drawing TO SCALE floor plans, downloading photos, choosing flooring, choosing fabric, choosing paint. I am NOT wearing an invisible cape while busying myself with these tasks.
Today, I meet with Brian, portfolio of assembled plans in hand. Two hours later, we have hashed out everything and he knows exactly what I want. He has even suggested some really fabulous changes/additions/ideas that I have not thought of. He will draw up the plans and send to me for “red lines.” (that’s a professional term for “change shit I don’t like.”)
As I survey my new queendom in my overactive imagination, I am already curled up in the new window seat nestled between bookshelves, sipping wine, reading a good book. (while I’m taking a break from writing, having met my daily word quota, of course).
Back to reality at a late lunch. Coe is suddenly all, “you know, maybe it would be better if I moved into that room and you could have the den as your writing room.” Then he ticks off a list of reasons why this is so much better for him. Not on his list is how much closer to the front door he would be when the undertaker comes to take his bludgeoned body away. Oh wait, that one is better for me.
Did I mention “since last year”? “Since Thanksgiving”? “Last Friday”? “Sunday”?
The only reason Coe lives to eat his Breyer’s Natural Vanilla ice cream with Hershey’s Five Ingredient chocolate sauce is because Anna reminds me that if I kill him and get caught (HAH! Bloody unlikely) I won’t be able to go to Murder and Mayhem in March and Haunted Scotland in October.
So fine. I have lost two days of my life on a writing room that will never be. The alternate space is only marginally acceptable (because I’m going to pout about this for a while). It does, however, have a fireplace. And it’s more remote from the rest of the house. So when Anna comes for breakfast on Saturday, we’ll take new measurements and plot a new comfortably malevolent space.
And other miscellaneous malevolent stuff. Because I’m just flexible that way.