Hello friends! Another week, another adventure. Well, an adventure into painting that is. After staring at my walls, trying to come up with the latest plot twist, I decided it was well past time to repaint them. After years of family abuse of pen marks, pencil drawings, paint explosions, and other various tried and tested tortures they have suffered, I grasped that five gallon paint vat, mixed it until my fingers ached, and poured the vaporous mixture into the bucket.
How I relished the silky taupe that would soon make my walls bright and cheery again.
After about five minutes of staring down at the paint, glistening eyes and all (drat the vapors), I swiped them dry with my shirtsleeve and with gusto I tackled the nearest wall. Roll after roll it took on a sparkly sheen. Up and down the ladder I went, cutting in near the ceiling and at the baseboards, and when all was said and done, I stood, shoulders squared, chin up, and beamed at that gloriously painted wall.
Of course, I felt proud. Who wouldn’t?! Muscles I hadn’t felt in decades gave me a swift ‘Hello’ in the form of stabbing, shooting pains, and my legs trembled at the exertion, but I was not going to let anything dampen the exultation thrumming through my veins.
Satisfied, I stepped back and turned around, half expecting congratulatory slaps on the back for a job well done, but no matter. I was proud. Proud…
And then, with a feeling of impending doom, I viewed the multiple walls yearning to be painted, and an overwhelming panic ensued. What. Have. I. Done????
Buck up soldier! Time to get the paint on, am I right?! So, I rolled up those imaginary sleeves, tightened that ponytail, and stared down those walls that taunted me from around the room. I would not perish! They were going down.
The ladder, which I thought helpful, turned traitorous with each painful step, and the endless sight of unpainted walls mocked me, but I kept on. Swipe after painful swipe, I tackled those obstinate walls, and when three were done (did I mention that I’ve got 18 walls to paint?) I leaned against the kitchen counter and exhaled.
Now, four days later, I’m still painting, and I’d rather be writing. I will NEVER complain about writing again. I think I’ll be dreaming about walls for the foreseeable future, but there was a silver lining in all the drudgery.
First, I’m sore which means I’m building muscle. Score! Second, I’m proud of those freshly painted walls. It was time, and third, painting shares similarities with writing.
I know some might think I’ve inhaled too much vapor, but hear me out. Painting requires attention to detail. It also requires dedication and determination. I know that many writers would agree that to make it as an author, we must be both dedicated and determined because it’s easy to just give up. However, where’s the fun in that? Moreover, painting utilizes layers to cover up flaws or enhance them, and so does writing.
Anyway, I’ve had a crash course in painting, and once completed, I will not be painting walls ever again. However, I’m grateful for the ability to do it, and I appreciate those that paint for a living. You all get the biggest of high fives!
So, after I complete this painting excursion over the next few days, I will cherish my time for writing all the more. What about you? I want to hear from you. What are you up to? TV, movies, books, or painting, I want to hear about it. Leave a comment, and join the fun!