My husband brought up an interesting point when he came home from deployment the other week: our house looks like we just moved into it earlier today. No discernible theme or attempt at decoration. It's clean and we have the necessary furniture for sitting and such as well as a picture or two, but that's about it. This honestly never occurred to me, but once it did, I found it impossible to stop thinking about it. I've been to houses that look like something you might see on HGTV after the extreme makeover. And I like HGTV, but I never really considered doing anything to my own house. Not sure why, but my husband's comment was enough to get me thinking. And, in a perfectly timed twist of fate, he had to go back to Louisiana for a few weeks before coming home for good, so I'll have the time to do a little bit of decorating to surprise him. Too bad I didn't think of this earlier, since he was gone for a year and I probably could have done quite a bit in that time. Oh well--hindsight, that filthy bitch.
So, how did I get myself into this strange, thoughtless predicament--I who spend all day effectively thinking? Well, for me, writing is a bit like falling into the rabbit hole. It's strange in there, fully furnished and pulsing with life, and once I get in it's hard to get out, mostly because I don't want to. On the other hand, my house is a sparsely furnished, borderline barren wasteland because I spend so much time curled up in my own private Wonderland. After a long day of writing, plotting, researching, or editing (or a hearty mix of all four), I'm rarely good for much more than throwing dinner together, mostly because the law says I have to provide sustenance for my child. Having an obsessive personality doesn't help, as when I do something I consider important, I often can't do anything else. Occasionally, I'll find something whilst out shopping that would look cute in the house, but I have nothing else to work with, so I abandon the item and go find the shoes, jackets, or cardigans (I have several of these, and by 'several', I mean at least 20). Well, there's my excuse, like it or lump it. But I'm not letting myself off so easily in future. I have my newly acquired stash of magazines (I'm not kidding when I say I know zero about this interior design stuff), a notebook full of ideas I stuck in there with a glue stick (I do love glue sticks), and measurements scribbled in a journal I can carry with me while I shop for things. This weekend I'm stepping it to IKEA for more ideas. Now that I've started, full-scale obsession mode has engaged, so shit's about to get real. I'll decorate this damned house...or die in the attempt (I also have a flare for hyperbole, fyi). Step one: slipcovers for my tired old couches...
No comments:
Post a Comment