Put Down the Ray Gun, Stewie...

With a six year old girl and a three year old boy in the house, practically the ONLY way I can get any writing done whatsoever is to leave the house. For whatever reason, homes in New England have detached garages, many with some kind of finished rooms either above or behind the car space. When we bought our house, we had the builder put in a two car standalone garage with an office space up top. It's heated, has a bathroom (populated only with a toilet at this time), and all of my books.

The ongoing project is to build wall to wall bookshelves on the two long walls. The picture above shows one completed unit (it doesn't all fit in the picture); the skeleton for the other wall exists and the rest is waiting until spring.

The other day, out of the blue, my son said, "Daddy, when you die can I have your room?"

Somewhat flustered, I stammered out, "Um, sure, I guess. I'll be dead so you can work it out with your mother."

He waited a few seconds and then he said, "Will you die soon?"

"I hope not," I said. "But you never know." I hope that he realizes it would be in his best interests to let me complete the other shelf unit, finish the bathroom, and take care of the insulation deficiency the builder left us with. Presumably then he'll be more able to take and hold the facility. Or turn it into a cool fort. Something, anyway.