Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-06-24 - 9:57 p.m.

Considering Where and How to Put the Furniture Back, or I Don't Think So, Egon

Among the seventy-odd pieces of crap that arrived in my hotmail over the weekend, I've got "Egon" advising me on how to "Hypnotize Women Into Bed."

Hey, Egon - I don't need to hypnotize any women into bed. I could use some pointers on how to hypnotize one OUT of bed, though.

The complete disarrangement of the house hadn't helped any. Where is the only working telephone? Next to my bed. Where is the only working computer? Attached to the phone line - next to my bed. Where am I half the day? Guess.

It's never been so much a bed as an ark, anyway. A padded ark. Usually containing several novels, a cigarette lighter or three, and a few stacks of laundry ("No no no don't sit on the...oh, shit.")

A friend recently shared a book he loves with me, a book about designing spaces for people to live in. It was inspiring. I was inspired. Then I went home and realized again that they key word was "space". You've got to have space if you're going to design it. Me, I need a book on designing junkpiles for people to live in. Or maybe that's the book I ought to write. "Disguising those ugly cardboard boxes with laundry." "Preserving carpet by lining the hallway with beach towels." "Who needs hampers?" I've almost got the outline already.

But my bed is actually an island of space, crowded as it is. It's not only a sleeping place but the book nook, the morning room, the conversation pit, the correspondence desk, the prayer and meditation retreat, and once in a while the solo dining room. I don't mind. I think beds are fine pieces of furniture and ought to serve multiple functions. I've had some great experiences on beds, some of them even involving the opposite sex.

But let us face it: the bed is not the place to do yardwork, or paint the kitchen ceiling, or set up the new microwave, or mop the new floor. I just can't get that done from here. Something has to get me out of here, and while the coffee maker remains in the kitchen (don't think I haven't been tempted) the coffee cups are dismayingly portable.

Get me INTO bed? Egon, I have the roundest heels of anyone I know. I'm all for bed, at any time of day or night.

I haven't been napping much recently; life hasn't been kind to naps. There comes that three or four o'clock slump, and there seem to be two obvious choices: nap, or espresso. Either one will help me gird my loins for the evening shift. I do prefer a nap, Egon, but it just doesn't always turn out that way. If I were to design for living, I might just put a Cone of Silence around the bed, to be lowered for that three or four o'clock siesta - made of opaque glass, so I can't even see the small faces pressed against it, or see them mouthing "...and she called me a ..." or "....SAID we could have ice cream if we...." . An hour under the Cone and I'll be much more willing to discuss the dinner menu (yes, that's what we're having) or the possibilities of two friends sleeping over tomorrow night (zilch.)

I think I'll have to go and leaf through that book again, instead of re-reading Egon's latest scheme. Want to get a woman in bed? Put the phone and the computer in there, she'll go, all right. But arranging a home that has livable spaces that are as friendly as bed - that's a challenge.

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