Its 12:00 in the midnight, and I have a hangnail that is causing throbbing pain to resonate through my finger every time my right “hunt and peck” striker plods into the key. This however does not stop me from bashing said finger into the keyboard repeatedly as my mind wanders about the room.
It has occurred to me that I have become sort of a room vagabond, strewing clutter about the house at the expense of enjoying the recent progress in home improvement. The office for example has a distinct garage sale atmosphere; horded mismatched glasses cover the floor in an erratic pattern that seems to suggest a break in. My desk was donated to a neighbor, and the “wiring closet” has been moved into the bedroom along with my Christmas PC that hasn’t been used for anything it was built for – all jumbled into an expensive pile of the grotesque that is both inefficient and unattractive. The office is a freshly painted bit of slovenly disaster that has forced me to migrate into either my bed or the living room when working or wasting time yelling at people online. The mess is incongruent, housing upgrades have forced nonstandard debris. The kitchen mess is not in the sink, it is in the office, the living room is full of my yet to be built random LED light collection. Ikea boxes and mounting hardware are strewn throughout every room. I have developed “collections” of things like Spackle, glass block, different grades and types of resins/epoxy/polyurethane/”sticky stuff in a tube”, collections that no one in their right mind highlights by storing openly and celebrating in their living room. Random metal, glass, and plastic are strewn not just in the front and back yard, but also the kitchen, dining and living room. I must admit, I am not used to projects ever getting complete in the arena of homes, most things I start have indefinite time horizons; some projects have been ongoing for 7+ years. It would seem I cling to the vestige of the incomplete even in the face of “done”, like the anti-zen, I leave the materials that are no longer needed in place in preparation for a project that no longer needs them. I continue to celebrate the process that is already complete by paying homage with random deleterious items that really should be returned for some sort of refund so I can afford to purchase a desk. Instead I sit in the living room gazing at sheets of hardibacker and random tile lovingly, nay, artfully hiding my cherished items in a camouflage of disorder. The microwave is still in the garage because I don’t want its lack of look and unkempt pedigree to dissuade the eye from the delight that is now the kitchen, yet I have the new floor strewn with cubic yards of building materials. Chaos in flux hiding the progress made, maniacally scrubbing water spots off the new backsplash while cutting my foot on the sawzall… Christy must really love me to put up with this “eccentricity”.