We have bookcases, but the books from them are on the floor, on tables, on footstools, in flurries and drifts. So I asked him. Why won’t you put the books back? I will do, he snapped back. He is the one who puts them there, often opened and left unread.
When I change the bedsheets his side of the bed is six inches deep in books. I have to force my way through a tidal wave of them…
I plot now. I think about what to do. I want one of those camouflaged book cases, where you tilt a book back and a door opens. I would like that.
Open the door, fill it with books, or push him in and throw away the key. Oh don’t get me wrong, food would be delivered three times a day. There would be a laundry chute and a bathroom. A comfy chair and a bed. A secret trap door would be there to pass in things, or hook things out when he’s asleep. He would be happy, I would be able to tidy up….
Life goes on in lockdown. Ideas spring to mind. They are not serious.
I don’t like to admit it, but my house is a mess. This is one bit of it. It’s not all that bad, but I need to go through things and shred them or burn them. Why? Because I don’t like putting personal documents out in the bin. There are so many people who can take your details and use them. I wonder whether posting on line is safe sometimes although I try not to go into specifics.
Friends keep telling me that creative people are messy. I think I agree with that. But I need to tidy up. Now I’m feeling a bit better I might be able to do it before Christmas.
Another morning, she came downstairs to the daily chore of moving stuff he’d left lying on the floor. Cups, newspapers, books, a jacket, his dinner plate from last night. There were also a pair of scissors and his slippers. He had gone out earlier. Leaving things lying around for her to pick up. I’m fed up with this she thought. It’s always the same. His stuff seems to be everywhere. Why won’t he do something?
Over the next few days she slowly collected things that were lying there. Soon she had six black bags of his stuff.
One morning she got up and he was asleep in the chair after a night of drinking beers. The chair was surrounded by six beer cans, a whisky bottle and several empty bottles and a glass. The snoring shook through her bones.
Enough, she thought, I will build a wall. She went into the utility room to get strong glue and a step ladder. Then she dragged in the black sacks of stuff. Starting with clothes she poured glue in a semicircle around him up to the skirting board on either side of the chair. She slowly piled glue and clothes upward using books, papers and bottles to help support it all. She had bought his fishing rod out of the bathroom and added bike wheels and garden furniture. As she worked she became more frenzied, trying to build before he woke. The glue was quick setting and she had fluff and paper sticking to her hands. She climbed the step ladder and peeked over the top. He was lying still on the chair, snoring gently……
After two hours she had completed the wall. It stood a bit askew but it reached the roof. What would he do? She pushed at the wall of material, solid. She went out into the garden to rest in the sunshine.
What a day! I’m tired out but still got things to do. I wanted to write something here tonight but have not had time. My eyes are sore from the eyedrops this morning and my eyelids are drooping. Twice my phone has slid out of my hands onto the floor.
I was planning to do a drawing of the Chinese new year, but it hasn’t happened. I’m listening to some Gershwin on the TV. Can’t remember what it’s called. Thinking about getting a decaff coffee or a gin and tonic. Not sure which.
It’s midnight and I need sleep but I have visitors in the morning and the housework has not been done because I’ve been so busy. Some of its just straightening chair covers or tidying away papers. No problem really, just a lot of little things.
Anyway now I’ve had a rest I’d better get on……