Moment of return
My bones sang 'done' before I could even get off the ladder. Even though the notes were a bit premature, I let them come anyway. Only when the tape was down and the first coat of touchup paint was applied did I really allow myself to think 'done' and mean it.
Even now, the word is still debatable, but my relief is not.
Do interior painting even once and you learn the dance: tape up, paint up, tape down, patch areas of missing color with new wall color, patch areas of new-color overspray with the trim color. Get off ladder. Sleep.
Almost there, kid.
I started yanking the tape down in earnest at seven-thirty tonight, and within thirty minutes the striped Medusa pile lay in the entranceway, ready to grab the pants leg of anyone who ventured too close. After the tape was down, I picked up the bucket of red paint and began to clean up lines made ragged by the tape's removal.
After that was done, I thought about attempting the latter half of patching: taking the white and covering up the areas where the red extended just a little further than I would have liked. I realized that such things were best suited for sunlight, and could wait until the morning.
Morning. If I had made it this far, I could begin to think of packing up and heading home and indeed, once thought, the idea did not leave my mind the rest of the evening. Home: grey carpets, orange-and-white cats.
My friends accuse me of being a hermit, and I joyfully admit the truth of their allegations. Anyone who has seen me during one of my long-distance walkabouts knows I do it as much for the joy of discovery as I do for the immense, blissful comfort of the moment of return.
Will Kari like what we've done? I certainly hope so; we have used the colors she chose, and followed the opinions she gave to Jody, not knowing how attentively they were received. I except that she'll be a little shocked at the unexpected color change, but judging from the reaction of her mother to the unfinished product, I think I've managed to do a halfway decent job.
My color choices for rooms are, admittedly, somewhat limited, but even I have to admit that the warm yellow that Kari chose (a color I wouldn't even have considered) makes for a comforting, sunny kitchen. I thought it overly bright at first, but as the color spread from wall to wall, I was surprised to realize just how much less sterile the kitchen felt.
For yet another night, I appear to be wearing as much paint as I've applied; I fear I will be scratching paint off of my arms, out from under my fingernails, and off of my scalp for at least another day or two. While the red stains more, and makes me appear like the friendly local axe murderer, the yellow seems to predominate.
Apparently yellow paint just likes me.
Given morning sunlight, I will pop open the tub of white paint and fix the places where the red runneth over. That done, I will tidy up my workspace and re-pack my bag; depending on the time, Jody and I might have lunch, but after that, I'll head northwest.
On the way home, I'll reclaim the hour I lost when I crossed into the Eastern time zone. I plan to take it home and give it as a gift to Edmund, who undoubtedly will, as his wanton nature dictates, squander it in long moments of kneading and purring. Tenzing will require at least twenty minutes of having his ears gently fussed and stroked, and then he will bury himself in the crook of my leg and sleep for hours.
If I'm lucky, I'll remember to settle in with a book or a movie before the cats find me. I might as well be entertained while they extract apologies from me.
Sleep beckons. After an evening of precarious balancing on countertop while reaching over cabinets to paint between them and the ceiling, my body insists it is entitled.
Current music: Marvin Gaye, What's Going On
Damien Rice, O
Jimmy Eat World, Clarity