The Fwriting Room

It started as a moment of frustration. I was trying to get some writing done, and the office space I share with my daughter and husband was filled with music by an artist that was so twangy she might have been the out-of-tune guitar she was singing to, mumbled responses to loud questions and the printer running non-stop.

I realized that if I was going to get anything done, I needed a space of my own.

My daughter has her bedroom, a playhouse, and part-time use of the game room. My husband has the train room and first dibs on the game room for painting. I have corners here and there, but activity follows me as people move through the shared areas of the house.

Even the cats have their own space, in a closet off the master bath too oddly shaped to be used as a closet.

But not anymore.

I decided sharing a writing space with the cats was preferable to the humans.

So the overhaul began.

Two electrical outlets were added. The door-triggered fluorescent light was removed and replaced with two eyeball lights. The shelves came down with much swearing, three blood blisters and a pliers dropped on my foot. A box was made to cover the cat box, and a cabinet constructed to hold the cleaning supplies that were in the closet before.

Still left to do is the final mud layer, made to look like the plaster. Washing the walls to clear them of dust. Paint on the trim, ceiling and walls. The desk and chair ordered and assembled. Cushion made for the top of the cat box.

And then I will have a space of my own.

Hopefully the cats will be quiet and have better taste in music.

(BTW, Fwriting = Feline Writing Room)

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