I think our crazy rearrange is finished for now. At least, I hope it is!

The downstairs is all creative space now, including the kitchen. My wife is quite the experimental chef. Man, it sure beats meth and home-wrecking. No point in a living room since we only entertain ourselves most times. We “live” upstairs. We work downstairs. If we play our cards correctly, rarely should the two meet. That’s important.

Of course, if I get stuck on writing something, I can always get up and play a round of the Atari 2600’s “Custer’s Revenge“. You know, a good old American family classic! 45, 47, and the last President we’ll ever have’s seal of approval!

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At the top of the stairs, you’ll be greeted by aliens, Satan, and naked lady art…with a little horror memorabilia for variety. I don’t know why we buy alien art at shows, but maybe it’s because no one else is. Maybe I want to own the piece the artist created at 3am because there was a monster outside his window and he needed a glass of water. Remember, you have to call it art, otherwise the Gazpacho will think it’s porn. Classy.

Various novellas, books, and tomes to tickle the fancies of no one, especially since no one comes upstairs. Elvis had the same rule, but I don’t keep underage women locked up there. So…not like Elvis? Maybe?

My wife’s happy place. It’s a work in progress, but it already makes her happy. So, technically, this is her ‘more-than-happy’ place.

Now it feels like home. It’s small, but we own it, and it’s functional. It’s like the Swiss-Army Home.

Love and art happen here, and that’s all we need.

Finally, I sacrificed this Trump-Chicken with Democrat Blue string and hung it above the door to keep rednecks away. I’ll let you know if it works.

I finished adding what I believe is the final scene to the movie script this morning and sent it to the director. After five years of rewrites and such, I finally gave the whole thing a motive. Strange how that works.

And now, on with the show…

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