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ladyspriteI had such marvelous plans for my vacation. I was going to get all but the most essential of my belongings packed. My boyfriend and I were going to strip off all the old, hideous wallpaper from his house, and repaint the halls and two of the three bedrooms. We were going to get me almost completely moved in with him, saving just the furniture for the actual moving day.
Of course, Thursday he was sick. And I, of course, have never used any tool larger than a scalpel. I am the worst kind of girly-girl, with a deep phobia of anything related to home repairs, building stuff, or just about anything that can be found in Home Depot outside of the gardening section. I think I own a screwdriver; I loan it to men when they come over to help me in exchange for baked goods. So, with him sick, I did my best to take on the tasks myself, but needless to say I didn't get too far.
Friday we fell victim to poor planning, utterly our own faults. And Saturday I managed to fall prey to the same 24-hour upper respiratory bug that hit my sweetie earlier in the week. In our defenses, even if we were healthy and industrious the tasks wouldn't have gotten done - most of the painting relied on his current roommate moving large masses of fossilized debris from the stacks he established when he moved in seven years ago and apparently hasn't touched since.
So, we got one room mostly painted, and most of the wallpaper down. And, hopefully, we should get more done Tuesday and Wednesday. My house looks like a disaster, with most of my worldly goods strewn in what are supposed to be organized piles but are in fact random drifts that develop as I wander around wondering what I absolutely know I won't need in the next week versus what I'm certain I'll need as soon as I pack it and move it. But all will be well, and the roommate will hopefully be out in time for me to move in on Sunday, and things should go fine.
I just noticed that my bed has been pushed a foot out from the wall, and my cat has a very smug expression on his face. Good for him. The little twinkiehead can help me move furniture this weekend.
Of course, Thursday he was sick. And I, of course, have never used any tool larger than a scalpel. I am the worst kind of girly-girl, with a deep phobia of anything related to home repairs, building stuff, or just about anything that can be found in Home Depot outside of the gardening section. I think I own a screwdriver; I loan it to men when they come over to help me in exchange for baked goods. So, with him sick, I did my best to take on the tasks myself, but needless to say I didn't get too far.
Friday we fell victim to poor planning, utterly our own faults. And Saturday I managed to fall prey to the same 24-hour upper respiratory bug that hit my sweetie earlier in the week. In our defenses, even if we were healthy and industrious the tasks wouldn't have gotten done - most of the painting relied on his current roommate moving large masses of fossilized debris from the stacks he established when he moved in seven years ago and apparently hasn't touched since.
So, we got one room mostly painted, and most of the wallpaper down. And, hopefully, we should get more done Tuesday and Wednesday. My house looks like a disaster, with most of my worldly goods strewn in what are supposed to be organized piles but are in fact random drifts that develop as I wander around wondering what I absolutely know I won't need in the next week versus what I'm certain I'll need as soon as I pack it and move it. But all will be well, and the roommate will hopefully be out in time for me to move in on Sunday, and things should go fine.
I just noticed that my bed has been pushed a foot out from the wall, and my cat has a very smug expression on his face. Good for him. The little twinkiehead can help me move furniture this weekend.
