So my office is shit again. Apparently since I haven’t been up here every night for hours, I thought it was ok to turn it into some sort of storage facility. I can’t even see the floor or my desk. Suitcases from Montenegro, Nuremberg, Sarajevo and now Amsterdam litter my floor. Pictures and gifts I’ve meant to send and stationary meant for letters I’ve written only in my head are tossed in random piles. My pencils are all over the floor and I stepped on the stash of lilac soap I bought in France but have never used. The new additions I bought weeks ago have started to collect dust. My typewriter hasn’t been cleaned because I didn’t have a home for it and my hopechest has nowhere to rest so it can collect.
Well, no more excuses. Here are the befores and tomorrow (probably Saturday) I’ll post the afters. Then I’ll really be back in action in my office. I’m excited to get some work done. I just ordered the 2010 Writer’s Market to add to my collection and it’s time to get some submissions out for the fall. In the past month, 3 new people wrote to me, asking why I don’t write a book and I’ll be damned if I don’t sell just those three books in my life. Even if I have to cut and paste the stories into a scrapbook and sell them on the side of the road. Seriously, I can’t be someone’s bitch for the rest of my life. I prefer to be my own bitch, and mine alone.
Now, the most awkward thing that happened to me today and then I have to get back to work. There’s no real way to jump into this so I’ll just throw it out there.
I think my German housekeeper found my vibrator and I don’t know if she touched it meaning I don’t know if I can use it anymore. There, I said it.
Seriously, I can’t stop thinking about whether or not she touched it and here’s why. Normally I just have her clean my downstairs–floors, vacuum, the windows, dusting, shit I can’t keep up with not because I’m too busy but because I’m really fing lazy. I’ve never had her do the upstairs because it’s just the spare room that no one’s used in awhile, my office that no one BUT ME is allowed in and my bedroom, which looks like a dog pound/storage facility/bedroom, if you can make out the bed as it typically looks like a holding area for clothes and blankets and six, yes six, fluffy pillows. Anyway, this week I got all regal like and decided my whole house needed a good scrub down and so I told her have it at. Seemed like a good idea until I ran upstairs after work today, like it was Christmas, inspecting every room and jumping in place, clapping because I AM FREE from the shackles of dusting and mopping and everything smells like cleaner and lemons. Yay for people that like to clean other people’s houses. (Seriously, she told me it is her passion and I believe her, she’s that good.)
But then I got to the bedroom and I felt sick. Shit, shit, shit. Everything that I knew was half kicked under my bed was now sitting on the window ledge in little piles for me to take care of and the floor was vacummed and I knew before I got on my hands and knees to look.
Sure enough, my vibrator was the lone occupant under the bed. The books were gone, as were the empty water bottles I kicked under there, the bat Chris thinks is going to save us if intruders come in to kidnap me and a few hair ties I’ve lost here and there. Instead of it being messy UNDER my bed, it was spotless, so much so that I think my vibrator had a spotlight on it, a glow around it, a neon light flashing and pointing as if to say, “Just me here. Just me left under the bed. And I won’t even tell you if she moved me.”
Fuck. Well it appears to be in the same spot I tossed it last week. And though I didn’t touch it to inspect it, I hope there’s dust on it. That would at least kind of prove it was me that touched it last. Because I just can’t have private time with myself if some German housekeeper put her grabby hands on it. How am I supposed to relax to that vision? Jesus. And that was an expensive model. I’m pissed.
So that’s my night. Back to building office stuff.