I’ve learned, in my 42 (and change) years on this planet that I am a creature of opposites. I like the semblance of a routine, but I also thrive on change. I like to ‘nest,’ but I also enjoy traveling to new places (as long as they have wifi, hot water, working plumbing and excellent coffee). Depending on the day, and the situation, I’m either a shy extrovert or a bold introvert.

This week I’ve been indulging in one of my favorite activities that doesn’t involve either writing or singing: I’ve been re-arranging furniture. It began with a move (mentioned earlier this week) of my writing studio from one room to another. That part was easy for me, because my husband and a young friend of ours moved the actual furniture and most of the books. (Is it possible to have too many books? Or is it just not enough bookshelves?)

But that was Sunday, and today is Wednesday.

For the last three days I’ve been slowly putting the books in order on different shelves that look bigger, but actually hold less. I wanted my studio done before I HAD to write in it, but now the week is mostly over, so tomorrow I’m going to have to write in it anyway. I did some editing and web stuff up there today. It worked okay, but the clutter is killing me. KILLING ME. If it wouldn’t set off the fire alarms and scare the dogs, I’d take a torch to everything and start over.

Almost everything.

I’d preserve the Captain Jack Sparrow and Mad Hatter dolls. And probably the Data doll, too. Maybe.

About half-way through the day, today, I was having a minor melt-down because Fuzzy is in Boca for the week, and the dogs were driving me crazy, and nothing was finished, and oh, it’s THAT time of the month, and my net wasn’t working right, so I went into the room that used to be the Word Lounge, and moved a couch.

Let me repeat that: I moved a couch, ALL BY MYSELF. Okay, it was only moved from one wall to another, but it’s a three-seat sofa-bed, so that totally counts as something awesome. Also? I moved a set of bookshelves, which is no mean feat when you’re only five feet tall. It’s not that objects are too heavy; it’s that I don’t always have enough leverage.

And then I moved a bunch more books, and now, while neither room is entirely finished, I can see what “finished” will look like, and I can almost glimpse that glorious end point.

It used to be that when Fuzzy went away, I’d rearrange the furniture in the living room or the bedroom. Our current bedroom furniture (and layout) doesn’t lend itself to easy rearranging, and since our living room doesn’t have walls (it has ONE solid wall, and an entire wall of windows, and the wall separating it from the kitchen/breakfast room has cut-outs), there’s a limit to what one can do with furniture in there and still be able to see the television.

In other news, I started decorating for Christmas today, finally.

And on that note, I’m going to watch the end of Nashville (another opposite: I’m not a country music fan, but I love this show) and then toddle off to bed at a reasonable hour for a change.