also, ow.
I just spent basically eight hours straight painting the foyer and long hallway in my apartment, which I've been meaning to do for, oh, about a year now. (I've lived here for a year and a half; it's a three-bedroom.) See, the original roommate/lease-holder had lived here for about ten years straight, and when he and his two college buddies originally moved in, they thought it would be super awesome to paint the entryway a vibrant not-quite-neon yellow. The hallway was a less dramatic off-white, although they tried to do something funky and artsy with some blue and a more goldenrod sort of yellow at one end, which just kinda looked like they started to paint and then gave up halfway through. (Also, the living room is a dark, vampiric sort of red.) Meanwhile, ten years went by, giving the paint job the expected layer of dinge and scuff marks.
Then a year ago, that original dude moved out, and I became the lease-holder on the place and got two new roommates, both of whom immediately repainted their own bedrooms (understandably) and talked an awful lot about doing the rest of the place, but never actually did. (My own bedroom was a pleasantly warm shade of gray when I moved in, and I have no desire to change it. It suits me, and my red rug and colorful Broadway posters pop nicely.)
BUT TODAY WAS THE DAY. And I painted the entire goddamn entryway/hallway by myself, plus all the trim along the bottom and the doorways and the front door and closet door and two bedroom doors. And it looks awesome. Farewell to thee, weird quasi-neon yellow foyer. I shall not miss you at all.
The blood-red living room is, like, a two-day project all on its own, and my roommate A is kinda taking charge of that one. He has Plans. We're not sure when we're going to do it, but it's definitely next on the list. (He spent the day deep cleaning the bathroom and kitchen instead of helping me paint. Fair trade, in my books.)
But in the meantime, HOLY SHIT MY HANDS HURT. Ow ow ow ow ow. I had thought I might tackle the ceiling tomorrow, but given how much my hands are cramping up right now, I'm assuming the very thought of holding a roller again tomorrow will just make me cry. Maybe next weekend.
This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. Comment wherever you'd like.
Then a year ago, that original dude moved out, and I became the lease-holder on the place and got two new roommates, both of whom immediately repainted their own bedrooms (understandably) and talked an awful lot about doing the rest of the place, but never actually did. (My own bedroom was a pleasantly warm shade of gray when I moved in, and I have no desire to change it. It suits me, and my red rug and colorful Broadway posters pop nicely.)
BUT TODAY WAS THE DAY. And I painted the entire goddamn entryway/hallway by myself, plus all the trim along the bottom and the doorways and the front door and closet door and two bedroom doors. And it looks awesome. Farewell to thee, weird quasi-neon yellow foyer. I shall not miss you at all.
The blood-red living room is, like, a two-day project all on its own, and my roommate A is kinda taking charge of that one. He has Plans. We're not sure when we're going to do it, but it's definitely next on the list. (He spent the day deep cleaning the bathroom and kitchen instead of helping me paint. Fair trade, in my books.)
But in the meantime, HOLY SHIT MY HANDS HURT. Ow ow ow ow ow. I had thought I might tackle the ceiling tomorrow, but given how much my hands are cramping up right now, I'm assuming the very thought of holding a roller again tomorrow will just make me cry. Maybe next weekend.
This entry was originally posted on Dreamwidth. Comment wherever you'd like.