You know that which I speak. It seems as though a summer never has the time in it to get all the items on ones list done. And today as July creeps on, and I look to returning to work this week, I am once again struck that I never have the time nor energy to get everything on my lists done.
Part of it is the listlessness that the heat brings on. I've been thankful for this weeks hovering in the eighties and low nineties (I never thought I'd utter such words as an Alaskan kid, but they're true nonetheless), and part of it is just sheer madness when we set our goals and write our lists.
One of the items on my list has been successful. Only one, and I hope to keep it up. I have lost my Wyoming wight and am down to my goal weight. Let's pray I can keep it there. I was just berating myself trying to talk myself into going to the gym a little while ago when the yelling of nerves from my lower extremities finally got my attention and made me decide gym be damned, I was going to shower and sit and knit. My legs had finally gotten through that summer goal oriented madness to let me know that since I got out of bed this morning, I had only sat down long enough to drive to and from the dog park. At all other times, I've been up and moving, including meal times. This included three dog walks of no less than 45 minutes each, cooking, cleaning, and this weeks big project.
And by big project, I mean big ol'slice of crazy pie. You see, I gave myself three short days to make the utterly cluttered and dusty "office" into the guest bedroom it was intended to be. This included getting all the crap sorted into the trash stash, the store stash, and the move the hell out of the room so I can move it all back in shortly stash.
I would like to say with some pride, that the trash stash was impressive and I felt a sense of relief as the garbage truck was able to lift the mightily filled dumpster without tipping this morning and permanently removing said trash stash.
You see, this,
1. I hate painting. Always have.
2. More than painting, I hate wall paper.
3. I REALLY hate painting.
4. If I hope that the inventor of wall paper is in a special place like the sweaty stifling ass crack of hell. That's where they'd be if there were any justice in this world.
5. Did I mention how much I hate painting? If not, I really F'n hate it.
6. If I knew where the woman who put all the god forsaken wall paper in this house was, I'd make her strip it from the walls under threat of death. Hell, I'd even make her paint.
7. I will never volunteer myself for such a project with Bob out of town again (Who am I kidding? I also painted the exterior by myself one summer, I hate people under my feet when I'm fuming with a brush in my hand. Throw's off my head of steam for the internal and sometimes not so internal bitching at the unfairness of the world).
8. I will never buy another house with plaster walls and/or wall paper again.
I think that's all of them. My hatred of painting harkens back to my youth where I somehow always managed to get the task of painting things on my summer vacation's to do list. Those picket fences are so pretty... Ever had to paint one? I remember one time my older brother being a typical older brother as I painted a batch of replacement pickets and me hurling one at him like a javelin. It luckily missed him. It unfortunately impaled a bag of fertilizer he had been hefting. That section of yard never truly recovered.
I never thought that I'd be painting a room blue in this house. When we moved in we had the entire spectrum of light pastelish blues from robin's egg to baby blue throughout the entire upstairs with matching curtains and wall paper. This last hold out was the least horrid of the rooms (after we took down the doll that the previous owner had left because it matched the wall paper so nicely. No, really, I'm not kidding), and therefore got delayed. Then, it became the ditch it all office where things just kept getting put instead of put away. I'm sure many of you have such a room too. But I got word that my mom is actually looking at coming to visit this fall, as well as one of Bob's sisters is coming at the end of this month post knee surgery. And with that thought I realized we needed to move the guest bedroom upstairs.
Sounds logical, right? Except Bob had to leave town this week, I go back to work for a full set on Friday night and then leave for Colorado giving us three days upon my return to make a room inhabitable that won't require going down a steep narrow flight of stairs to another wall paper festooned room. So, I set to work. Not saying it's all done. Most of it, yes, but not all. I still need to do another ceiling paint coating that I thought was done until the new light fixture went in... Yikes! Then there's trim work, and we probably won't get to repainting the closet to match until Bob's sister has come and gone. But, the walls will be nice looking, I'll pull some art out of storage and all movies and music are orderly and tidy on new shelves downstairs. Bob will have to deal with that desk I didn't do anything but move and cover it. You see, that's his documentation mess and I think there are somethings that the owner of such stash's have to deal with. Other peoples hands in such things cause break ups, and other general hate and discontent. Then with a new bed in place and the office placed back into the corner in a neat and orderly fashion, Wa La, a guest bedroom is born. I promise, next week I will get a pic up before I head to the retreat.
So, just to make things worse on myself I had people over Friday for a knit night for me to pretend to think I could get a set of socks done this week. And Monday I felt the need to bake. Don't ask, I don't know...
Oh, and I made a discovery. Protein based tearless dog shampoos, strip wall paper glue from plaster walls amazingly well. Don't ask, it was late and I wasn't paying close attention to bottles, but it was a happy accident, unlike when the bucket handle failed and the bucket hit that pretty wood floor and exploded... Remember that not so internal bitching I spoke of? Yeah, there was some of that. Poor dogs just took themselves outside to let me cool down. Well, all but Sullivan who promptly shoved the couch out of his way and hid behind it. Gentle souls should not hang out around me.