Mean Monday on Sunday Night: PR’s Office
This is my office where I work about six months of the year. I was just there this weekend and I took some pictures to share with you all. I am a slob. I roll around in a pile of dust and books. Make fun of me. Talk about how happy you are that you don’t really know me. I am going to explain stuff and post some nice close-ups after the jump:
My computer is missing from this picture because I’ve already packed it up. I love the light flowing in through the window. I often stare out the window and say a prayer. Usually the prayer goes like this: Thank you, God. And um, that’s it. That green and white afghan was crocheted by my mother when I was a baby. It is very important to me. As a child, the fact that she had made me that, made me feel loved, and otherwise, for a large part of my childhood, I felt disliked or worse by her. So I’ve clung to that blanket for 40 years. It’s filthy. I know, you don’t believe that! But, really! It is not very clean and has all sorts of holes in it from mice and shit.
I have some books in my office. Those boxes are full of books. Also, if you look closely at the bookshelf, you’ll notice a pile of magazines. Lots of them are Zoetrope and The New York Review of Books. Also, many of them are Victoria Secret catalogues. I masturbate to them. It goes something like this: I pretend I’m Gisela Bunchen getting fucked by a quarterback.
Ah. I spend much time on this couch. I just kick all the books off of it. I know, I know. You think I carefully place them somewhere. But no! I kick them to the floor. Then I trip over them later. I read on that couch. I nap on that couch. Once, I got in a huge fight with my husband and spent an entire day on that couch. I locked the door and he kept trying to come in and said I was “scaring him”. I got really fucking hungry around dinnertime and came out. Ah. My office. It’s like a nest of chewed on newspaper a mouse sleeps on. I can recognize four books on that couch looking at this picture- a really old Granta that has an essay on violence and young men that I tried to find and did, for a piece I’m working on about violence, a Jim Thompson book, the book The Mother’s Guide To Sex (Three Rivers Press) to which I have a small contribution and Kyle Minor’s excellent collection, In The Devil’s Territory. And I know for a fact that The Road by Mr. McCarthy is on that couch. Once, I was all stretched out on that couch reading and I smelled something really stinky. My husband was cooking dinner and I thought, wow, that chicken might have gone bad. I kept trying to read. But I couldn’t really concentrate because of the smell. Hmm, I thought. I should get up and tell him not to cook that chicken, cause it’s really gone bad. I continued to try to read for about thirty minutes. Then I looked to the side of me. And you know what I saw? A dead, rotting squirrel. Right next to me, all stretched out and dead, on my couch. I screamed and ran. Here’s the deal: my beloved husband cut a hole in the ceiling in another room to see what was above it (I am not going to explain that now) and he never covered the hole up. So we had problems with animals in our house for awhile. Once I went to pee and there was a dead squirrel in the toilet. And the bats! The BATS! I since have duct taped over the hole. ( I know, I know, you really want to come over and see my beautiful house.) I said to him, “that is why we had problems with bats.” And you know what he says? To this day, “I don’t think so.”
That, readers of htmlgiant, is my office. Mock me. I’m trying to get tougher.