Tuesday, April 05, 2011

All the right moves in all the right places

Listening to: My wedding playlist
Reading: Dance of the Gods - Nora Roberts
Mood: Contemplative

Aside from the crazy week and a half I've had: moving house - taking all day to clean the old place and being rung up two days later to be told that I did the crappest job Moo-Cow has ever seen (I was 21 weeks pregnant at the time and had two kids under 5 to contend with, suck my verbal fist you wench), amidst the chaos of unpacking my new home and trying to get ontop of my mountains of laundry, not to mention walking 8 kms every day to take my daughter to kindy and back; and then having the house fall apart on me eg. the doorknob to the garage coming right off, flooding my laundry because I forgot the sink was plugged, cleaning up milk spills and wee puddles on the carpet, and then last night after telling the children to get away from the curtains, walking back into the lounge a minute later to see them both run like hell itself was chasing them from the room because they ripped the netting. I took the netting down because, as you'd imagine, it's beyond repair, and had them both castrated in their bedrooms until dad got home because I just didn't want to see them. Oh, and let's not forget the great battle of reminding my daughter to use little bit of toiletpaper instead of undoing the whole toilet roll and dumping it in the toilet and flooding it. On top of all that, I think I'm getting depressed again. It might just be due to all the pressure I'm under at the moment, or at least I'm hoping it is that.

But aside from the crap that's been thrown at me since moving day, I want to redirect all this negative energy away from me and keep positive.

So, the new house: it's big, it has a yard, it's wood underneath the carpets because you can hear every step creak, and it's got a basement downstairs in the garage. I didn't go in when hubby went exploring because dark dodgy places like that...well, if you're a horror writer, you just don't go in there in real life because your mind is screaming obscenities at your curiosity for even thinking about it. The house isn't creepy, it's a very lovely big house, and I've had very restful nights here. It still has the makings of a horror writer's dream-house, though. Like when you walk up the stairs and you stop because you could swear you just heard the stair behind you creak under a footstep. Like when you're in the bathroom and you see a shadow shift past the little window at the top but when you peek your head out, there's no one there. Like the way the wind screams underneath the doors when you're in the garage but it sounds like there's an actual voice beneath the elemental sound. Like walking into a room and getting a fright because you thought you saw a pale blonde girl with big black eyes staring at you from the corner of your eye, but it's really just a box and your mind is playing tricks on you. Or like when you step into one of the lesser used rooms in the dark and you see a shape hanging in the open cupboard and you leap for the light switch and there's nothing there, but you could have sworn you saw feet dangling.

The makings of a horror story, I tell ya. But it's all creativity - you see the creepy where there isn't creepy, so people think there is creepy and they get creeped out. Catch my drift?

Since we're boarding a plane this Friday, I have a lot I still need to do: the last of the laundry, trying to create some order in the house and cleaning it so we come home to a nice tidy place, I have mail to redirect to the owners, unpacking all my paperwork and books from my luggage so I can start packing for the trip, sorting through artwork to pick out which ones to take over for the grandparents, taking library books back, drafting up a to-do-list for our friends who will be keeping an eye on the house for us, creating a playlist for the wedding, transferring important files onto the USB drive to take along with us, taking photos of the house for maintenance reasons and unloading all the photos onto the computer, maybe putting some on Facebook for family and friends to see, organising a shuttle to come fetch us on Friday morning, and among all this there is still the daily chores to do eg. nappy changes, dishes, ironing, trash, lunches, dinner, walking 15 minutes to kindy and 20-30 minutes back home, twice a day, etc etc etc.

So writing is going to have to wait until I get back from holiday, but this house might actually save my novel.