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From the Desk of Winston Smith...(profane, drunk)

A picture would paint a thousand words, but I'm a writer, right? Right?

Top left, to right:
SF Giants Troll, Crazy Crab, Hula Girl, rubber Devil Duck, a gold watch (given to my grandfather six months prior to retirement in lieu of a fucking pension), sepia photo of my mother on her wedding day, pack of candy cigarettes, Sparkzilla, can of generic beer (unopened), Logitech speaker (1 of 5), bottle of Hillary Clinton Whitewater, Frank Zappa beer bottle (opened), canned coffee from Japan, canned ginseng nectar from Korea, 1973 Nixon inauguration ticket, replica hand grenade, switchblade comb, mini suit of armour from Spain.

Mid / back panel:
Pics of Ronald Regan, Margaret Thatcher, George and Laura Bush, a jar of ten year old jellybeans, eight year old Sees suckers, a die-cast model of Gorbachev's limo, an Oakland A's "Billy Ball"

Main Level:
Home-Built computer (don't ask me the specs, it's water cooled, over clocked, SLI etc,), Flashing red "cop light" on tower, Two Acer monitors, assorted empty shell casings, Yellow Mustang Hot Wheel 'cause my mom never got a real one like she wanted, a wedding photo of my wife and I, small tool and first aid kits.
Today, there is a bottle of Maker's Mark, shot glass, large mug of ale on top of my Periodic Table of Elements, next to my National Review magazine.

Canon MFP that no longer prints but still scans, Record turntable (hooked into tower via RCA jack), fire safe, subwoofer, trash can, a whole pile of 20 year old games.

Then I look around "The Office", all 10 x 11 of it. On the walls are a bunch of 45 LP records, Star Trek maps... Christ It looks like an Applebees in here. There's a lava lamp, CB radio (my dad loved CB), small desk from my grandmother, a gun cabinet, a bookcase full of board games, another full of actual books. File cabinets, shredder, exercise bike. Look, there's a Redwood burl clock my dad had from the 70's. Oh, and the cat box is in the corner.

My wife wants clear it out. All of it. Her sister needs a place to stay.

This is all that's left of me. 'Bout a hundred square feet. There's no room to put all this shit. I play games here. I listen to music. I talk to you guys. I even use that stationary bike behind me.

I felt like fighting earlier. I'm drinking, now I'm just sad. My wife had to put me in this position.

I may just give up. My wife has the moral high ground. I pour the whiskey. I'm too numb to cry.

I'm not a smartphone or laptop guy. This is my small corner of The Universe.

The things moved out of here will get broken or lost. When (if) it ever get reconstituted, it will not be the same.
Do I put on my Ghost Shirt? No. I'm thinking I will fight no more, forever.


Shed, workroom, storeroom, treehouse, clubhouse, juke joint...Mm? Got the space somewhere? Just got to make it weatherproof, right? Raise the floor off the mud, tarpaper over walls , wood outer; tin roof. I've built several. 10x 12 is actually legal, here ( imagine that, something legal-and no fees..)
Kevin;bt11241 said:
Shed, workroom, storeroom, treehouse, clubhouse, juke joint...Mm? Got the space somewhere? Just got to make it weatherproof, right? Raise the floor off the mud, tarpaper over walls , wood outer; tin roof. I've built several. 10x 12 is actually legal, here ( imagine that, something legal-and no fees..)

I live in the land of moisture and cold. Anything not destroyed by humidity would not be useable because my damn finger would be frozen outside.
No room in "da yard". Garden beds, chicken coop, shed... Maybe I can go all Doomsday Prepper and just bury my shiat!
No dinero either. Our friggin fence is falling down along the entire perimeter, can't afford to even fix that... before I build a bunker outside.

Nope. Digging in heels. Sipping good whiskey. Staring at jade elephant (forgot to mention him). This shit is good. But I'm craving some crappy Tequila now.
It is horrible how the wives can't understand the need for a man cave. We own the whole house, including the bedroom. Seeing shit piles can be hard to ignore.
Mr. T's shit piles make me crazy, but I stay the hell out of them most of the time.
Hope you can continue to find room and your wife isn't taking advantage of the situation as an excuse to shovel some of it out. Hope it works out!!
I'm deeply saddened by your post.

I have my little box-room. I've seen bigger toilets. It's piled high on all four sides with junk but it's MY junk. Not to mention empty Cider bottles and cans. It's my life.

Our marriage, our life, is nothing to shout about. I'm no super husband but we have a roof bought and paid for. Her "lot", mine too, I concede grudgingly, could be a whole lot worse. She knows it, I think, and so, to her credit, she butts out of my little world.

Okay, your wife is trying to help, NEEDS to help, one of her own and I can get that, sort of. I hope you two can some how come together on this I really do. But not your room man, not that.

Good luck Winston,
I hope it works out for you.
Give your wife and her sister your master bedroom. It will be like a college dorm for them. Put a twin bed or futon, in your office for you. If there's a double closet in your cave, put bed there. Just make room there. Have sex in the car (more exciting...my former husband and I did that many times, in garage, when married; once we got caught by cop in adjacent neighborhood late at night...cop saw we had same address and married, we were in our 40s, and let us go, so we used garage) This could be a great win-win. Trust me. Sex in bed is boring. Hope helpful. Sas
Great post sas, I love the thought but in a car? In your forties? Ouch!
Your car obviously wasn't a Triumph Herald.:hurt:

I don't know how the climate is with you guys but with my just being in my room a few hours a day causes so much condensation. I did put a small bed in here once and wood was beginning to rot.

Sex isn't an issue now thankfully.
Actually, we had a 1963 Triumph 4.

I was married and still finishing college. We lived over an hour away from my college. So when I got to the open road I let 'er go! Got three tickets from same cop, in one year. He was jealous and punished me. I was plenty cute, too, so I know it was the car. When I got stopped in my Malibu I'd get off. That Triumph was worth it. Four on the floor, black with rag top, red leather interior. Together we were hot.
Mine was a soft-top too.

I envy you your good fortune sas.

Cute and hot. I would have hated you for that.
I have assumed you are a man, dither, so not getting hating me. Hmmm.
Hated, too strong a word maybe.
Let's just say I would have resented my being so dis-advantaged.
A man, as in male of the species, yes.
you had, it would have seemed, and WAS, everything.
I had/was nothing, a nobody.
To even look at you would have been presumptuous beyond belief.
That's why so many beautiful people end up in bad marriages. The good guys didn't dare/got too much sand kicked in their faces and just looked the other way.
Sis In Law told my wife that she would not "feel comfortable" here because of me. Playing her pathetic victim card. I cannot help if I'm feeling depressed. I don't single out anyone, even my pretensions, self-important in-law. I'm not nice to her because she is a biatch, but because I just don't feel good.
My wife has been supportive, being in the middle of a conflict where there should be none.
Yes sas, I volunteered to sleep in the office, and let the girls share our bedroom. The two shrew in-laws have failed marriages, and I think wish ours would be too. Nothing I do will be good enough. When I show weakness, it is because I am a bad person (in their eyes). The Shrews are ignorant, selfish, small minded simpletons. And I can't fix stupid.
But dither, "beautiful people" do intermarry. My wife married me. She is beautiful inside, whereas I am a spiritual turd.
Well Winston,
this turd wasn't so lucky and then, maybe he's luckier than he knows.

That was the first remarkably sensible perspective I've ever heard you express. Stay on that wave length.

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