Dec
23

It’s a Small, Small World (Especially if you Never Leave your Apartment.)

Those of you who were reading four years ago may remember my first idea for a reality show. Long before “Sexy Pioneer Times” and “Red Hott” (sexy communist collective, remember? From each according to his abilities…to each according to his needs…), there was “Writing with the Stars.”

Now, for some reason it didn’t catch on, but I thought that you might like a little glimpse into the Glamourous Life of a Writer, even if I don’t have Mindy Cohn or a lesser Kardashian learning the trade alongside me.
Also, this is an easy way to take a few pictures and pretend it counts as a post. Let’s begin!

I was surprised, after my last entry—all those many months ago—to realize that there were those among you who assumed the Crazy Person’s Bulletin Board was not a LITERAL bulletin board, but rather a metaphor for an organizational chart of the mind. Oh ho ho!
CPBB
Now, I inexpertly edited out the text on all of those little squares, so as not to ruin the book for you (though, SPOLIER ALERT: Simone lives), but imagine them all filled with vaguely nonsensical bulletpoints. Each square was supposed to represent ONE chapter. (ONE! ONE, GODDAMNIT.) Alas, most have morphed sinisterly into two. For instance, the three green pins you see represent the first five chapters. Now I call the squares “sections,” which doesn’t help. The red KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON postcard my mother sent me from London was originally calming, but now I read it as shrill and desperate, appending an invisible AS ROME BURNS to the end.

A green pin denotes material which I would happily send to print, having been subjected to my editorial rock-tumbling as much as it ever shall be. I won’t go into the other colors in detail, because of the weeping, but just know that they all have their own meanings, and that the further away from green they are…well, the red pins, specifically, give me a Marnie Reaction. (The sort of reaction Marnie got whenever SHE saw something red, complete with AWOOGA! AWOOGA! horns blaring, etc.)
Let’s move along before I have to get out the paper bag again.

Here is where the magic happens, or doesn’t, as the case may be:
Peaceful as a Mountain Stream
Doesn’t that look peaceful? It’s my office, otherwise known as the corner of Simone’s room. Since she has slept in our bedroom for her entire life, and all of her toys are in the dining/play room, “her” room is merely where her clothes, changing table, and diaper bin reside. And now, it is also where I do my Creating. Ah, diaper bin! Such an inspiring smell!

My office has my beloved Poang and sidetable, and the CPBB, and a door that closes so that Simone isn’t distracted by my presence in the apartment. It has at least one cat, often more. It has piles of paper, including the old calendars from Simone’s NICU room. It has lists, an outlet for my laptop, a phone, and a copy of 50 Cent’s book, which Scott got me as a sort of inspirational joke. This book is bound in leather-esque with gilded pages and a satin bookmark, like a bible. I laughed and laughed when I saw it, but—ahem—have found a few snippets of surprisingly apt advice inside. Mostly though, it is in my office because of the hilariously hardcore back cover, which I keep as a Strengthening Talisman, to be looked at as required:

FEAR NOTHING!
See? Are you not overcome by simultaneous urges to giggle and growl? I find I do my best work this way.

Speaking of which, here I am, doing it—or at least pointing tiredly at the CPBB:
Workhorse
Yes, that is a headscarf. Don’t judge me.

As far as the effects my approaching deadline and resultant hermitude have had on the rest of the family, well, Scott has had to take over all weekend childcare, but for Simone it is mostly business as usual, only with more pajamas:
Humdrum
Stirring a pen in a broken toy aquarium that she has set atop an unplugged air-purifier—I miss her a lot these days, but she seems to be keeping busy. While I was trying to pee this morning, she managed to finish a whole new bathtub installation, involving a spoon, a small baby doll, a Playmobil cow (though she calls it a horse, which may have relevance), toilet paper, and an empty shampoo bottle. It is difficult not to envy her artistic prolificacy.

My time is up. I miss you all. And sunlight. And bathing. I couldn’t do this without you, you know. Just in case you think I’ve forgotten.

Saxby Chambliss, everyone! May Schmutzli spare you!

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |