Hello. It’s Belinda.
I hope that you had a good week.
Is it springtime yet for you? Spring weather puts everyone into a good mood. Also all the flowers.
I am still pretty cheery thanks to my birthday. Despite some tensions at home.
It all started the other night. My roommate and I had settled into our favorite spots in the living room. She was sprawled across the couch. I was relaxing on the floor with my back toes touching the baseboard. A platter of birthday hay nearby.
We were getting ready to watch an old-timey movie called “Singin' in the Rain.” It’s a musical. Just something for fun.
I could not see my roommate’s face but I could see her feet. She was wearing “bunny slippers.” Solid white with ears that stand straight up.
I don’t care for these slippers for reasons I’ll get into later.
Everything was perfect in my opinion. And I was just starting a nice peaceful chew of orchard medley when my roommate turned and looked down at me.
Then she said it.
“How are you doing with those emails?”
I stopped chewing. I stared straight ahead and I did not move one whisker. Just stared at the “title screen” for Singin’ in the Rain.
After about 30 seconds my roommate got the message. She pulled herself back up onto the couch and started the movie.
The evening was ruined. All I could think about was the unanswered messages in my inbox.
With everything else going on at work I have to answer emails in the evenings. But I needed a “breather” and a movie sounded like a nice distraction. Which I deserved after a hard day.
I tried to enjoy the film but after about ten minutes I gave up. Got up and walked downstairs.
My roommate didn’t notice. Too busy singing “Fit as a Fiddle (And Ready for Love)” at the top of her lungs. As I walked across the bottom level, I could hear her through the ceiling.
My boyfriend’s companion watched me from inside the pen.
“Why the long face, Gilligan?”
I ignored her. Walked around the wall into my office. I spent the next two hours working until I nodded off on the keyboard.
I don’t remember shutting down the laptop or moving to my sleeping rug. Which means my roommate tucked me in.
And while that’s thoughtful of her it just proves my point. That my office under the steps would be “just right” except for one thing. No door.
If my roommate comes to the bottom level to use the washing machine or to “tidy up,” I’m getting a visitor. Whether or not I want one, to be honest.
“How’s your day going Belinda?” Even though she can see that I’m working.
You might think I should pretend to be asleep. In a normal office setting that might work but not in this house.
Because even if I am asleep, my roommate will still make a racket talking to my boyfriend’s companion.
“How’s my Gidget?”
“Move over Tweety-bird. Let me fix your blanket.”
“Little Fang! Ready for a treat?”
I’m not allowed to publish her real name because of copyright issues. But I can say “with authority” that none of the above names are correct. It's distracting.
Also, once I hear the word “treat” that’s the end of my focus, if you know what I mean. If Little Fang is getting a snacker then I’m next in line.
And not to “go on and on” but even when my roommate is quiet she disrupts me.
For example, last week I was well into my afternoon half-nap when she shuffled past me wearing those bunny slippers. I opened my eyes “a smidge” and jumped half a foot.
I’m sorry but my vision isn’t the best. I’m far-sighted. And when I wake up and see four tall white ears sneaking toward my office I think it’s a bonded pair from New Zealand. Up to no good.
Maybe I shouldn’t include this in my work blog but I growled. My roommate stopped in her tracks and said “Belinda!” but that doesn’t excuse anything as far as I’m concerned. It’s just poor judgement on her part. Come on.
The bottom line is I need a private office. With a door that locks.
And this is exactly why I want to put an addition on the house. Made out of hay bales. I’ve already run this past Josh from the warehouse and he did not answer me yet. But he did not say “no.” So that tells you something right there.
I think 300 bales of timothy should be plenty. In my drawings, the walls are eight feet high. Not sure about the roof but “these things take care of themselves,” as Dale Carnegie says.
Sorry for the "rant." Especially when the past few weeks have been so good.
My birthday was over the top. An email account and flowers from J. and so many nice messages and snacks.
I do not want to be greedy. But I had “hay house” on my birthday list too.
And I am not going to stop until I get it.
Spokesrabbit, Small Pet Select