Not going to lie. This morning, I was tired.
It’s my last New Moon in my 69th year. Which accounts for a bit of lunacy.
Experiencing a New Moon in Scorpio requires shedding old patterns, confronting hidden emotions, exploring motivations, and facing truths you have been avoiding. Mercury and Venus being in retrograde only heightened this time of self-reflection, making this a moment to reassess priorities.
Yesterday, I decided to do something without being asked. I cleaned the basement.
Yes, that last light at the end of the tunnel is where I wrote those seven novels and where I am typing this at this very moment.
What was I thinking?!
In all fairness, Lisa has been very patient with me. She has only demanded that we keep the two upper floors tidy, because with the exception of her time on the treadmill, she never ventures down to my lair. And only a few lucky humans have made it down that final hallway. Isn’t that right, Renee?
Renee Clarke Comes To Casa Claire – The Wise Novelist
Yesterday, Lisa went down to the treadmill.
I could tell from the finger swipe on its dusty patina before turning on the athletic conveyor belt that her time of turning a blind eye was running out.
So, after doing my regular Claire & Honey chores, I bit the bullet and launched into the thing I hate the most. Cleaning my basement.
That meant sweeping, vacuuming, swiffering the stairs, floors, hallways, rugs, kitchenette and bathroom and wiping down every bit of furniture (except the furniture in my office and my altar – which I shield from any invasion through superstition and mutigenerational curses). It meant shifting large pieces of furniture, many times, including the couch that Jimmy Moran recovered from after his first night of drinking with Everett and Michelle, while Claire watched over him from the glass doorway you can see in some of the photos, so that all of the dust elephants that had been herding in this sanctuary could be rounded up and captured. Three rolls of Bounty and a full bottle of Windex later, nine am had turned to three pm. And my back was shouting WTF!
But it gets worse.
Usually, when 8 pm rolls around, I’m shot and ready for bed. Two am always comes early.
Last night I could not fall asleep. Even after two Aleves and my before-bed ritual of nocturnal tree hugging with The Old Man, while The Beagle Brothers performed their final perimeter patrol of the night. Luckily, no zombies were spotted.
It was 11 pm before I finally dragged my sorry ass into the tower and forced myself to sleep.
A few hours later, the Beagle Brothers made sure I didn’t miss walkies roll call.
Which was wonderful, given the starry, starry night.
Love VvG, and actually saw his Starry Night Over the Rhône (and some of his other works that were part of La Nuit étoilée collection) at the Musée d’Orsay in Paris when Lisa and I visited that once beautiful city years ago.
I get other nocturnal creatives.
But here I am sore as shit as I lean this aching back over my keyboards.
A year ago, this being a Monday would have sealed the life sucks and then you die deal for me.
But now that I am a man of leisure – at least that is the as of yet unproven theory – I do not have to launch my decades-honed superior intellect into the stratosphere of legal analysis and argument on behalf of some don’t give a shit client who is not going to appreciate the end results once his/her feet are no longer toasting in the fire.
No, instead I’m going to get out there and do my daily Casa Claire chores for the magical creatures that actually care for me, enjoy my company and appreciate my efforts at making each day comfortable and pleasant.
But before I do that, I’ll wash down a couple of Aleves with another cuppa.
You, my fine, five readers, should shake off the weekend cobwebs while you finish that last cuppa.
And do not worry about what may be waiting for you in the office. Just stick to the weekly plan – immersing yourself in the project for the first couple of days, finding your epiphany by Hump Day, so that Friday’s Handmaiden allows you to wrap your client’s woes in a pretty bow to be delivered with just enough fanfare on the magical Friday to distract everyone form noticing your early office exit as you launch into another wonderful weekend.
Trust me, experience has taught me that Friday will be back before you know it.
And no matter what else we get up to, let us make today a great one.
