I Don’t Know About This

The interior of our house really needs a paint job.

I asked a lot of people...

...even hired a guy.

He said ‘Yes.’

I went out and bought the paint.

And then I looked at it every time I walked by the newly purchased paint...

...sent a couple of messages to the kid who wanted to do it.

Nothing.

“Let me try the trim,” I said.

I didn’t have a lot to lose. We are going to replace the carpet anyway.

I took my time.

There was good and bad:

1). It looked all right.

2). My back was destroyed.

But I was invigorated.

“I can do this!”

During the day on Thursday I thought about finishing the small hallway when I got home.

I was flinging paint in a dizzying mess of chaos.

I couldn’t see it properly.

Was I missing a spot or was it the shadow from the lights?

I wasn’t invigorated anymore.

Reaching up, bending over.

“I need a massage!”

I shut off the lights. Left the drop cloth on the rug. The paint could sit right there.

“I felt like I did okay,” I said.

But I didn’t sell it because I just didn’t know.

“I guess we’ll check it in the morning,” I said. “One thing, if I missed something, or it looks like crap, you better not say a word.”

Three things I know for sure:

1). I need an evening off.

2). A Massage is a must.

And

3). I need to find a painter.

Grandpa Fuzzy painted landmarks all over Western New York...

...he probably got a laugh keeping an eye on me.


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