Monday, November 28, 2005

Dark Night of the Sheetrock

First, a disclaimer: I held out as long as I could. I admit, I feared the blog.

What if I say something stupid? What if my writing is less than...writerly? It's what I do in my day job, so there's an added pressure to blog with excellence. What if one of my asinine remarks floats in cyberspace indefinitely, and fifty years from now it comes back to bite me in the rear?

But then I got over myself and joined in the fun. Somebody crack the champagne.

Lord, I hope I do this right and don't misspell my own name.

I find blogs a wonderful diversion from things I should be doing. Like writing my novel. Which I should be doing right now. I have a stack of edits on my desk, ready to key in and push my draft to the next level.

After a day like today I could use the diversion. While my husband cooks cheddar potato soup for dinner (yes, I know I'm blessed) I'm hiding in my office.

Why, you ask? Because of the brand new hole in my living room ceiling. It's a nice hole, with square edges. But did I mention it's in my ceiling? In the living room? Just in time for the holidays?

It started small, you see. A whisper of a shadow, hardly noticeable. Being type A, I noticed. "It's nothing," my husband assured me. And yet the shadow grew. Evil things, I believe, grow when untended. Especially when they're located underneath the children's bathroom on the second floor.

A plumber came out to battle our dark shadow, and sawed through sheetrock for closer combat. The rectangle birthed a new view into the guts of our plumbing system. Intricate bends and twists carrying unspeakable things to wherever unspeakable things go.

He found nothing wrong. Or, nothing he could fix anyway.

We thanked him, gave him a check and he disappeared into the night. I sat on the kitchen counter looking at the hole.

I cried.

After telling my husband I had one more assignment for today, I crept upstairs and wrote my first blog ever.

You know what? I still have a hole in my ceiling, crumbled sheetrock in my carpet, mysterious plumbing issues and a manuscript in need of edits.

But I feel just a little bit better.

Britta Coleman

1 comment:

Julie Anne Long said...

OK, Britta, you must be a good storyteller, because now I'm *dying* to know how you resolve the whole hole issue.