bluefacedpixie

See also I hate painting.

I love living in my little house in Ballard, I like the way it looks. I often complain about yard work, which I have little skill for and don’t really get fulfillment from (except in a “I moved the dirt” kind of way, and I may be the only person who likes mowing small lawns).

Painting/decorating is different. In general I like the sense of achievement from the finished product – the red living room, the new furniture etc. But I hate the act of painting. It’s tedious, and I like to be good at stuff and I’m not very good at painting. Bad edges, splashes, squiggling lines. All of these irritate me and I have to ignore them at the end of the day to appreciate the results. This time round I even had to drywall for the first time – buying random things and asking naive non-macho-American questions at Home Depot. Doesn’t look like I’m more than passably bad at that either.

However I spent the part of Christmas Eve that wasn’t at the ER finishing drywall and painting our upstairs lobby (white, with some river rock “tough finish” greenish to go on the stairway on Boxing Day) and I think I’m going to be happy. We’ve already moved upstairs to the green room (skylights installed by contractor-man, touch-up by me last weekend) and Baby MacHaggis will live upstairs in the yellow room. I think this is called familial domesticity, and it’s definitely not software-working, blog-writing virtual.

Merry Christmas tomorrow, I hope Santa is on his way and that you’ve been mostly good all year.