Dreaming Paris

We had to move her heavy bed, and bring a board from the garage room to lay across the slats to make a more stable platform for the mattress, which of course meant moving the mattress off. A few trips back and forth from bedroom to living room carrying pillows, books, and just stuff to make room for the drip plastic. Go find the stepladder and carry it in. Go find the paint and tools and carry them in. Pry off the stubborn paint can lid (while nursing a right arm that doesn't work right due to tennis elbow) and stir the paint. Then up and down a few times on the stepladder and lots of bending over as I do my share of the painting-the ceiling edge, the corners, the baseboards, and the door and window trim. My daughter gets to do the fun part using a paint roller on the nice, open middle area of the wall, but that's because she takes after her father when it comes to things like this, and though she tries, she's just not the semi-perfectionist that I am. I can't say I'm truly a perfectionist, but I'm the closest to being one than any one in this family. I get it from my mom. Now get this. I've only done one wall, so far. The one with the door. And only the first coat. And I'm ready to hang it up and continue tomorrow. This is so unlike me. Once I start on a project like this I go, go, go until it's finished or I simply cannot move another muscle. My elbow is aching, my neck and back are aching, and I'm so winded I can compete with the fans in keeping the house cool. While I've been writing this, C has been doing her part of the wall. She just now said she's finished, which means I need to go in there and start on the other wall. And then come back to the first wall for the second coat. And again on the second wall. I don't think I can do this. :-( So C says, let's just do the first coat today, and finish the second coat tomorrow. I can do that.