DB did pop the lights out for me, one of them needs filling and he was going to come back and do it but life got in the way.
And, I did paint the coving on Monday night. And I did put up all the poly sheeting, which is just as well as I'm not used to using normal emulsion (I usually use Once which is, it turns out, thicker). I haven't painted for a long time, and I overloaded the brush, it was a pain.
I went to bed early, had a bad night (which included me knocking a glass of sqaush over and spending an hour at 3am cleaning it up).
This morning, I set about rollering.
It was awful.
I used my trusty Paintstick. It was awful. Not the Paintsticks fault, mine.
It was such hard work. I stank (I still do, I'm taking a break while what I've done so far dries). Even the straightforward bits were tough going, the awkward bits were horrendous. I swore like a trooper.
It took me forever.
I had to have breaks for a drink, and to take the plastic hat off to let my head cool down. I had to keep spraying and cleaning the floor (if I ever did this again, which I won't, I will get the sticky stuff to put on the floor to protect it.
My arms ached, my shoulders hurt, my back, already a problem, is killing me. My legs don't fold like they used to, so kneeling on the worktops is excruciatingly painful.
It was pathetic.
I've never enjoyed painting, but I always like the end result and - up to now - I've felt the end justifies the pain of dong it.
Not any more.
I was getting fed up with myself and my whingeing, almost as much as I was fed up with the painting (well, the pain I was in).
I had an Ocado delivery part way through.
Later, the postman came to collect a parcel.
I stopped at one point to put a plaster on my finger as I nnow have a raw blister under my glove.
The kitchen ceiling is 2 heights, and I was doing the taller one. I was trying to work out if I could get away with not doing the other one at all. Then I made a bargain with myself: just one coat.
I wanted to give up.
I never used to give up.I used to just grit my teeth and get on with the job in hand. The whingey side of me was adamant that she couldn't do anymore, she had to stop, she didn't care how crap it looked. The usual side of me tried being stern, tried cajoling, and ended up bargaining. "Just do this bit and you can stop for a drink" "Finidh this dsection and you can have a 5 minute break" "If you really don't want to do it, we can stop and start again tomorrow, the kitchen will just be a mess for longer".
My brother is due to pop over and do the light. I wante to finish befire he came because (a) I've got an apron over my tee shirt and knickers because it is too hot, and I don't want to have to get dressed, and (b) he will encourage me to do a second coat and I just want to get it finished. Or he'll offer to finish for me, which is an amazing thing to offer,, but I want to do this myself (Yes, I'd rather do it badly, myself than give in and have someone do it).
After a break, I set about painting the lower ceiling. I was so slow, that I wil have to do a second coat because the first one was drying to quickly. I did some touching up of the first area, and I'm waiting to see what it looks like.
I swore that I would dispose of all my painting stuff, including my paintstick. I'm never doing it again.
I have been lying on the floor in the living room, feeling much older than I am. I had to get up as I had another delivery. I shouted to let the driver know I was getting there. When I opneed the door I apologised for the delay and said I'd been painting a ceiling.
He looked at me and unsuccessfully stifled a laugh as he said "I know!"
I'm covered in white paint.
I want to clear the kitchen up and bin all the ktchen towel and newspaper. I want to have a shower and wash my hair. I want to have my breakfast (it's half past lunchtime, I've been up since 7.30 aand I haven't eaten because everything is behind dustsheets).
I feel calmer, and cooler, but still stinky,
now I've had a bit of a break.
I'm still never painting another ceiling.
