I should know better. Home improvement projects always end up being more than they seem. Always.
After I came home from my long work week I looked around this house of mine. This house was a mess. I don't know what I expected. The mister was working long hours as well and was exhausted at day's end. And the kids are, well, kids. Let's just say my children do not clean on their own cognition.
A good part of the mess, however, did not belong to the children. It was Papa's. There were boxes of brewery tee shirts, bottles of beer and a spittoon still fresh in its box. And there were his thrifty finds -- vintage shirts he's meaning to get over to his retail space, an old erector set and other paraphernalia. All this scattered about the house. You see Papa doesn't have an office. Really he has no space in which to put these things.
I realized he needed a space and promptly cleared out the closet under the stairs. Now his stuff is neatly tucked away tidy as can be. My stuff, however, which was in the closet, is smack dab in the middle of the hallway. I solved one problem and created another.
My plan was to, once and for all, claim the nook upstairs. It will make a perfect craft studio. I initially started my studio conversion, ahem, a couple of years ago. I enthusiastically ripped out the carpet and then became distracted ---- ooooooh shiny!
It was high time I got back to it. My thought was to finish the floor (paper bag style) and, perhaps, to paint a little. And by paint a little I meant a little. One wall I wanted blue. And I thought I might touch up the beige walls as well.
Well I did it. I painted the wall blue. But my lines weren't perfect and the beige indeed needed some touching up. Only I didn't know the original paint color. I tromped off to the paint store and came back with a multitude of samples. I found, I thought, the perfect match. It was not.
The touch up paint ended up being a shade darker than the original. I'd already "touched up" the sloped wall that lead to the ceiling and I'd already purchased the paint. This was bad. Very bad. What this meant was that not only was I going to have to paint the wall but the ceiling too. The high, angled, sloped ceiling. And me? I'm neither a fan of heights nor a painting expert.
Well I bit the bullet and painted that ceiling. But the ceiling and walls led out into the hallway with an even higher sloped ceiling. There is no clear demarcation between these areas. No place in which to stop painting. And so, with a heavy sigh, I borrowed a ladder from my neighbor and precariously began that project as well. Now I'm halfway done with the hall. I've not even begun the paper bag floor.
In the meantime we've all been stepping around boxes of fabric and various yarn. There is a path to the kitchen but it is just that. A path.
And though I'm tackling this paint job my work is suspect. Don't look too closely at the details. Ignore the region around the trim. I figure if and when we sell this house someone can come behind me and tidy up my lines. Someone who is not afraid to be 12 feet up on a creaking ladder. Someone who knows what they are doing. At least I hope.
As for me I'm embracing imperfection. I think once my studio is put together the little errors will fade into the background. And should they bother you? Well you don't have to come up for a visit.