We’re close. We’re sooooo close…
You may think that first sentence should end with “…to insanity” but in truth, our sanity fled a long time ago.
No; we’re close to finally finishing our second floor renovation… if by ‘close’ you read “we only have to paint three walls and half the floor, install the shower doors, buy four sets of bifold doors and install them, hang a bathroom door, build storage shelves and a twenty-four-foot bookcase, and trim out six doors, four windows, and two skylights”.
Honestly, we’re almost done! …Or we’re delusional. It’s one of those D-words; but ‘delusional’ is so harsh. I prefer ‘optimistic’.
You may recall that I confessed my antipathy to painting back in May when I ended up painting our exterior trim. Shortly thereafter, we tried to hire a painter to do our interior work.
The original painter who did our addition was the messiest painter I’ve ever seen. By the time he was finished there was paint everywhere, all over our new flooring and even on the door handles; and he seemed to think that was perfectly okay. We didn’t call him back.
After a lengthy search we found a second painter who thought he could fit us in. He showed up, gave us an astronomical quote, and then vanished after we asked when he could start.
So we found a third. He showed up, gave us a reasonable quote, and said he could start the following week… and then vanished. (I heard a rumour that he was fleeing three ex-wives and a soon-to-be-ex fourth.)
So we tracked down the second painter again. We waited a month until he finally showed up and started painting… and then he had a tantrum and walked off the job after doing only two rooms (badly).
By then I was out of time and patience, so I did it myself (despite the fact that I REALLY HATE PAINTING). It was a slow process, but it looked surprisingly good when I was finished.
So for the second floor, we didn’t even bother trying to hire somebody. “I’ll do it,” I said to Hubby. “Even though I REALLY HATE PAINTING.”
“Should we do the floor last?” he asked. “Just in case you drip?”
“I never drip,” I said proudly. “I’m a very tidy painter.”
I guess I can’t blame our ex-painters for being flaky, because apparently there’s something in latex paint that turns people into liars and/or nutjobs and/or destroys their hand-eye coordination.
Last summer I painted without a dropcloth and never had a problem; but now? Good Lord. I have paint on the floor, the ladders, my clothes, and every part of my body that isn’t covered by clothes, including my hair. When I’m finally finished upstairs, I’m going to frame my jeans and market them as a modern art piece. (On the upside, the walls and ceiling are pristine; and thanks to Hubby’s foresight we’re painting the floor last.)
But slow? I’m positively glacial. With emphasis on ‘positively’; as in ‘falsely optimistic’. Before I started, I thought, “Ah, I’ll be done in a few days.” I’ve been painting six hours a day for two weeks and I’m still not done.
But I’m close.
I’m sooooo close…
*cuddles into straitjacket and rocks back and forth, humming*
Did I mention I REALLY HATE PAINTING?
To be fair, that mess isn’t all from mistakes – I also clean the end of my small roller on my pants because it’s easier than finding a rag. But still…