An Update

I know, I know. Last Wednesday I said I would resume normal posting the following day and then I never did. But I've been in a total slump, you guys. 

In the last few months, this blog has turned into something I started to feel really proud of. My morning writing hours became precious and sacred. Two weeks ago I decided I wanted to start submitting some of my little stories for publication and literally, the next day, I managed to not make time to write. Because, you know. There were piles of crap in the living room and laundry to do. And then the next day, I did it again. And then two weeks went by and I just think it's really interesting that I made this decision, to really be a writer, and all of my ideas completely dried up. 

All right, that isn't entirely true. I have thirty-five stories that I've started, that I just can't make go anywhere. THIRTY-FIVE. My mother says they are eggs that are incubating, and will soon hatch. I hope she's right. Because this? This inability to write anything that interests me? IT'S DEPRESSING.

Bare with me. Bear with me? I still don't know which it is. In the mean time, how about an apartment update?

Our new home is slowly, but surely, but very slowly, coming together. Mike built us a gorgeous bed frame out of lumber he found on the street:

 

I love that man and his ability to find trash on the street and make beautiful things with it. 

We have several different ideas for making a headboard, all of them costing us nuthin' but elbow grease, but we have yet to actually execute any of them. I'm lobbying for Mike to build me an entryway table today. Or at least a shelf on which to keep the bin of worms I want to buy for indoor composting. Yum!

The removing-the-paint-from-the-bathroom-tile project is a holy disaster. I keep thinking I never should have EVER messed with it, but the thing is, I couldn't help it. The paint started peeling off the tiles after our sixth shower, and I knew I'd never be able to really clean the shower without all that paint peeling off anyway. I figured I'd be making my life a whole lot easier if I just stripped the tiles. What I didn't realize is that the reason they were painted in the first place was to hide the fact that they are so filthy and old and wrecked that they literally burn your eyeballs when you look at them. I just figured they had been painted ... out of laziness? But really? They were painted for our protection.

While bathing Valentine, Mike has to hold her face away from the hideously 

cracked and stained tiles to protect her vision. 

I asked Mike how much time and money it would take for us to re-tile the shower and he almost passed out. I guess it's out of the question. I tried bleaching the tiles, by the way. I tried using liquid bleach. I tried using bleach powder. I tried bleach pens. All a waste of time and money. I must resign myself to having a filthy looking, cracked tile shower. But you know what? I bought a shower head that is so fabulous, what with it's high water pressure and twelve different settings including a mister and one that mimics rain, that as long as I keep my eyes closed, it's like I'm showering in heaven. So there. Oh! And also? WE HAVE A BATHROOM SINK.

My nephew John sent me this quote recently: "Life's not about waiting for the storm to pass, but learning to dance in the rain." 

Life is one complicated mother fucker and I've never been a good dancer. But I'm trying. I'm still trying.