I know that the title of this post is the name of a blog but it really applies today. And, of course, who is my worst enemy? Me. If you've been reading my blog you'll know that we lost Paul's dad in late November. He had lived with us ever since we moved here and built our home over 15 years ago. We had a full, finished basement apartment built for him; what they call a "walk out" here which means there is a full door and windows along one side and all the way across the longest side of the apartment. There is a full kitchen, bathroom, living room, and bedroom. It's probably, I'm really guessing, 600-700 square feet. Anyway, after Art passed away, I had to do some work immediately because Paul's cousins came for the memorial service and stayed down there. It took me 30 seconds to start rearranging furniture and fantasying about what I would do with a new big block of real estate for me to work on for the first time in many years (not that I had looked forward to it being this reason). I had an airtight reason ready for Paul who would otherwise probably leave it as a museum. I discovered that, dur, 92 year old men don't clean and I'm not sure at what age he stopped cleaning. Not six years like Paul's uncle Robbie's apartment was in NYC-yikes. For some reason, well I had what I thought was a good idea, I decided to move my art studio room down there into the bedroom. I had to beg help and took out my back carrying things down two flights of stairs and it took quite a bit of time. It didn't take long before I realized that the room was not larger enough to make it worth the move. I thought it would force me to organize and purge, which it has, but then I came to my senses and realized that it was really stupid to have this private space without a private bedroom as it had meant to be. Why would we have a guest (ya, as if we have any, but we might) stay upstairs with us and not have the privacy and luxury of having their own bathroom, kitchen, living room, and bedroom? Duh. 
So this last week I have spent most of my time rearranging the things I moved in that work and, after many, many years of having it in storage, I got my beautiful childhood iron bed out of storage, set it up and painted it. You'll see it after it's "dressed"-not quite there but close. I decided to keep this used-to-be funky blue, free, fab dresser where I had moved it and set up my as-seen-here-before Victorian lamp collection atop.
I am just a few harsh-mother hours away from having this room finished. I can't wait to share the pics of the whole room and start booking your stays at our relaxing, spa-like getaway.
Doesn't this look like a beside table where you could set your warm milk or glass of wine and cozy up with a good book or great magazine? Wait 'til you see the bed! So, about the title. I think I have kept all of you, my dear readers, abreast of the plight which has been the lives of myself and many people who I love in the past six months, correct? And now this brain injury with Lucas has been weighing heavy on my mind for over three weeks. I think it may be beginning to catch up with me. In the last few days it seems that the limbo with Lucas is getting to me. He's not getting worse but he's not getting better and not knowing if we are not doing something we should be is starting to wear and scare. People keep asking me how I'm doing and I have no answer; I don't know how to register this situation because there's no prognosis at this point. The blood clot could dissipate as it should have by last week or he could end up having brain surgery. I have things I need to be healing from and can't quite get to it because other things keep popping up and getting in the way. They seem to be piling up. Thanks for letting me vent. This decorating project would be better therapy if my heavy lifters weren't so darn worn out when they get home. We will be having a meanie-mom day this weekend and I'll try my best to get things moving faster again. Oh, and before I forget, Justin and Boh have found a place of their own along with Justin's former roommate and great friend, Matt. They will be moving out this weekend. As much as we have loved having them here, I will not miss the dusting-twice-daily and floors-covered-with-dirt-like-a-barn dog stuff. I'm looking forward to perhaps the house being clean for a half hour again at some point. A girl can dream.
