I’m an overachiever- I know that about myself. Or maybe I’m an overreacher.
Or maybe I’m just a flippin’ retard.
Whatever it is that I am and however it relentlessly pushes me, it propelled me yet again this weekend.
It started on Thursday with bunches of pictures of paint selections and the hopeful oohing and aahing and wishfulness that flairs when dreams are in the air.
And then when Miss Carol and me agreed on colors for the exterior of The Little House of Horrors, I immediately decided that this was the ONE and ONLY weekend to paint the house. Fretting, I worried that if we waited, all would be lost- I’m gonna be working the next several weekends- and then winter would be swooping in and the whole house’d be reduced to the sulking and moldering dampness of loserness.
I HAD to paint this weekend.
SO. THE DREAM-
I’d planned on renting a 45′ articulating 4-wheel drive lift and drive around The Little House of Horrors probingly insect-like, spraying her with paint as fast as I could move.
I figured I’d be home in time for brunchie brunch and a cool cocktail.
THEN. THE sad REALITY-
There were no lifts to be had, so Me and Crockett (one of Phabulous Phil’s guys) spent ten hours spraying Pro-Block primer on Saturday, humping 40′ ladders and cleaning the rental gun every 5 minutes. What a piece of crap.
Then, on Sunday, we continued the humping of 40 footers and sprayed color using my little one gallon sprayer. And ooh baby, baby, talk about the tiny train that could- I’d kiss her if she wasn’t so painty.
But it was exhausting. Even my hair is sore.
Miss Carol just told me maybe I should just leave and drive a truck- that maybe we’d be happier- that maybe we wouldn’t be keeping our lives on hold.
I don’t know how to take that yet.