August, 2000. Purchased my home.
The den was a nightmare. Actually, several. Gorgeous ceiling fan (broken globe, unable to replace). Not to be outdone by the acoustic ceiling (only 7.5' tall). LOVELY cheap paneling. Hideous 70's inlaid vinyl flooring.
First thing to go was the vinyl floor. I was broke, so all I could do was a paint job. By luck-of-the-draw I found mismatched bookcases to fit the walls perfectly enough. Then I unpacked my shit. Being a creative GENIUS, I made it work. (OK, you don't agree. Bite me! Anyway, it became home.)
Close-up of bookcases. Pretty shit can sure help hide ugly shit.
Room stripped and under construction.
The upheaval of your home causes upheaval of the brain. My home is my refuge/fort – safe. It's really given me a new perspective on what my clients endure. The disruption of their home, bombardment of decisions, and the $$$$$. You're a stranger in your own home. The things you find comforting are packed away. You're living in a war zone. This shit is stressful.
Being bipolar has made this process more difficult on myself, my partner, and everyone that's had to deal with me. (I've been a dick. Please forgive me, Dan- life partner, Mike- contractor, Shannon- business associate.)
Den finished. Now the fun. Where the hell does all this shit go?
Shaping up. What a mental and physical workout. Being an interior designer is physical work. Trust me. We do a lot more than swish about and drag fabric samples around. My whole body hurts, even my eyelashes.
Lovin' my new digs. Things will always be a-changin', but for now I'm a-smilin'.
Seein' my shit makes me happy. Not to brag, but I've got some good shit.
Oh fuck, David. Tell it like it is. You're braggin'.
Loretta Lynn, "Coal Miner's Daughter"
"Well, a lot of things have changed since way back then
And it's so good to be back home again"