Whoever invented wallpaper deserves a slow painful death.
I intended to have all the wallpaper down, the whole downstairs painted, my studio painted, and the master painted before we moved into the house at the end of the month.
The problems with these goals are many:
1. I’m still working full-time at the stupid stupid temp job and don’t even get home until nearly 6. By the time I put on work clothes, eat something quick, and make it over to the house, I get about an hour before it’s time to come back to the apartment for a shower and bed.
2. It is driving me absolutely insane to not be in the house. I cannot live like this for one second more. It’s like asking a kid to just sit in the same room as the Christmas presents.
3. This house has so many wonky home improvement projects for us to fix that it’s going to take us months. Up the stairs there is painted over wallpaper we’re going to have to dig out shred by shred. The master bedroom needs to be sanded down completely because some previous owner crackle painted the walls and it’s still visible under at least three layers of paint. We’re finding the craziest colors layer after layer. The kitchen alone has been bright yellow, bright orange, and wallpapered in just the past six years. And every improvement was done half-assed. The switchplates were painted to the wall, windows were painted shut, bathroom tile was painted over, mold had gotten between the wall and the wallpaper. The walls are in bad bad condition.
4. My studio has been packed for nearly six months and I’m starting to twitch. While my stupid stupid temp job is really not that awful, I can’t stand it because I do absolutely nothing purposeful and nothing creative. It’s amazing what a toll that is taking on me. I walked into JoAnn’s the other day to get a peacock feather (I’m channeling inspiration for paint colors) and I nearly cried as I left because I missed being creative so very much. If I felt like my work accomplished anything, I could at least take solace in that, but I’m getting paid to sit at a desk and look busy when I could be making my dream home. It’s just torture for me. While we’ve lived here I have been making a few things here and there to try to satisfy the urge, but it doesn’t work. And now I get home at night and have the time to do a couple of rows of knitting before passing out.
So we’re just going to move in. With paper down all over the floor and wallpaper all over the place and not a stitch of painting done. With crazy mirrors still up in the studio. We’ll be moving our bedroom into one of the spares and everything else into the garage. And it will probably stay that way until I leave my job at the end of the month, but at least we’ll be closer to living like normal people.