It’s all over but the shouting, people.
My dad used to say that a lot. He would come through the front door of our house, dirty and scummy, a broad grin pasted on, those satisfied words exclaimed as if he believed the day would never come. Dad built a lot of houses, all in his free time mind you, because construction was not his real job. After the past few months, I understand a little more why he said that. I witnessed my weary father push through his building projects, courageously laboring until almost near the end, when he always seemed to catch a second wind in order to finish those last few projects. That is where I am at right now. With nearly every wall but one inside the house painted, I can taste victory. I am almost there.
It’s a good thing. Paint fumes have nearly destroyed my brain. Two months or more of painting will do that to you.
I can’t say that I totally hate to paint. If interior house painting was simply opening a can of paint, dipping the brush or roller in the can and wildly slapping it on, I might say it was fun. Heck, maybe some nude painting might be a trip.
Wait, cleaning the paint off afterwards might be a little tricky. There also is that thing about taking down all window coverings to paint.
That’s really what causes interior house painting to be tedious — the prep work. Walls have to be washed, curtains and hardware removed, pictures and fasteners removed, holes spackled, major damage patched and sanded, dark walls and water spots primered, trim and ceilings taped. By the time prep work is finished, I am too tired to enjoy the painting.
The reward is usually the finished job. A few of the rooms painted the past few weeks look outstanding. I am good or so I think until I look at the shoddy work done in other parts of the house. The shoddy ones are usually the rooms that I was either wobbly tired or high on paint fumes (or both).
Evidence of fatigue shows up when it comes time to put some of the hardware back on the wall. For instance, this towel rack I put back up late last Sunday night. I took a step back to admire my handiwork, musing for a few moments before I realized something. And I also realized that it was time to quit for the evening.
If I really put my beautiful nose to the grindstone (I am idiom saturating today), the house could be ready to list by next week. At most, it’s going to be two weeks.
And then the real work starts.
Of course, the new place will likely need to be painted and fixed up….