Taking stock can be a good thing; I frequently stop to count my (many) blessings and be thankful for them. In the past few days, though, the stock-take has been a bit of a downer. I’ve always loved messing about with painting and fixing things up etc (one of my greatest joys with Cheeky Monkey Theatre Co was making the costumes, props, backdrops and so on, although Amber wil insist that this was only because I got to spray-paint pretty much everything that wasn’t nailed down), so the prospect of doing up my new house was exciting.
In the past, I’d had so much fun doing decorative wall treatments like sponging, stencilling, rag-rolling and the like, and had been looking forward to getting stuck in on re-painting the kitchen (originally hideous magnolia coupled with crappy lights and a black countertop = very dingy space), the entrance hallway (they painted it mauve! Why?!) and the various bedrooms and study (all that ghastly job-lot of magnolia).
We pored over paint catalogues, made our choices, went to Homebase, browsed the aisles, picked our paints, got brushes and rollers and whatever else, and arrived back at the house in a froth of excitement. Well okay, Izzy and I were a-froth; David was sensibly less so. We started on the kitchen and even before the first coat on the first wall was complete, I had a sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to go on. Yesterday, we went back again to continue and that was it. Not even 20 minutes later, with exhaustion making me stumble and stagger, the sentence was pronounced. Mission: definitely impossible.
I don’t have the strength in my arms to wield a roller, or in my hands to grip a paintbrush. My right knee is swollen and stiff from repeated kneeling and standing; my right shoulder has pretty much seized up so even sleeping is painful, never mind getting dressed this morning.
So, with sinking heart and sick frustration, I concede defeat and acknowledge that we will have to pay someone to do the job for us.