My immediate surroundings are a little on the macabre side. I’m speaking here of my space, my attic loft, my Belfry – where I tend to hibernate.
It’s a cool space – to a degree. I don’t mind having a secret panel in the wall – that part of things is pretty frickin’ groovy, but the bloody handprints on the walls have got to go.
Same with the mod green rope lights.
And the staples. Thousands of staples. Why for they’re there I don’t know, but they gotta go, too.
I’m gonna need paint. Lots and lots of paint. I’m going to put a base coat of plain white on all the wall panels, and go from there as far as a colour scheme, but before I can do that I have to take down about 200 feet of rope lights that are screw-nailed into the walls.
And then I gotta pull all those F-ing staples out.
I’ve tightly scheduled in time next Friday and Saturday to get the walls “paint-ready”. A pair of pliers, a bottle of rum, and about 4 hours oughtta do the trick…
I now occupy the attic space that Kyla first commandeered when we moved up out of the one-room basement apartment we had shared for 18 months. She didn’t stay here long, a couple of months at most, before declaring the space to be too big (?!) and begging me to trade places with her.
It was another couple of months before I could bribe her into finishing the “Dream” mural she had begun on one of the wall panels. The walls are entirely made up of those panels you see… Ky had originally planned to paint them in a pastel-ish group of blues and pinks and browns.
The kid that lived up here before we moved in had decorated with bloody red handprints stamped on the walls, crayoned cartoon characters and a plethora of cuss words carved into the wood-shingled ceiling.
I can’t decide if it was the bloody handprints, or the secret door hidden in one of the wall panels, leading into a tiny crawlspace that freaked Kyla out, but I don’t care. I’m creating a spectacular, long-awaited Teenage-Heaven up here, beginning with Ky’s mural… which she kind of, sort of, almost finished for me.