I went to the doctor Tuesday about the hot flashes. They drew blood and are checking my hormone levels. He seemed perplexed that I was having the flashes like I am.
Of course, it took two sticks to find a good vein to get two vials of blood from. Have I ever mentioned that I hate needles?
I was supposed to hear back from the doctor in a couple of days, but haven't heard a word yet. Surprise, surprise. Guess I'm not their only patient.
Last week after the flood when I worked so hard at Barbo's house, I was sore and tired. Not as sore and tired as some who are working ten times longer than me, I'm sure, but I was hurting. It took a few days for the soreness to work its way out.
We have a built-in bookcase in our living room. My dad painted it a beautiful white when we built our house 15 years ago. As is most everything in our house, it was beginning to show wear and tear. The bookcase took more wear and tear than most other things in the house. Except the carpet. That's another blog topic for another blog day. The bookcase was just a catch-all for the boys. They'd put any and everything on it. Except, of course, books. Change (mostly pennies), keys, pocket knives, wallet, iPod, screws, you get the idea. It had lots of places where it was scratched and the paint chipped off. It was beginning to look bad.
I thought I'd just repaint it. No biggie. I've seen lots of girls on the blogs do projects like this. Heck, they take an old hunk-of-junk piece of furniture and make it look fantastic. Word of advice, DO NOT BE FOOLED BY PROJECTS YOU SEE DONE ON THE BLOGS. These girls are hard core. They work their fannies off and must never get tired!!!! Their end results are gorgeous and always leave me inspired to tackle something myself. After this, though, I do believe I've been inspired enough.
The project began with Jeff and me riding off into the sunset.
To go here.
To buy this.
They had big pumpkins for $8, so I got one to put on the front porch. Also just had to have this Georgia Bulldog five-gallon bucket. Don't know what I 'll use it for, but I couldn't resist. Hey, if you've got to use a big bucket, may as well make it a cute one.
The first bucket of paint we bought was way TOO white. All I could think of when I looked at that white paint was the old-fashioned nurse uniforms and how stark white they were.
This paint would have made her uniform look drab. It was the brightest white I've ever seen. So we headed back to Lowe's the next day and bought another bucket of paint a couple of shades darker. Still white, but not nearly as glaring.
I emptied one side of the bookcase and Jeff emptied the other. I took out all of the shelves by myself and boy, were they heavy. We had to prime it before we painted it, which essentially means you're painting it twice. Double the work.
Jeff had football practice last night and said that I could wait until tonight and he would help me get it painted. There was a ladder involved and for some reason, (HA) he thought I might fall. Can't imagine why he would think such a thing.
Well, I don't really do WAIT. In fact, wait isn't a word in my vocabulary. I don't wait well. Because of my lack of patience (and good sense) I took it upon myself to paint the entire thing with no help. Moving the ladder, climbing around on the shelf, twisting and turning to get every place on the bookshelf, I nearly killed myself. I knew that I was overdoing it, but I wanted it done. Right. Then.
By the time I was finished, I had paint in my hair, on my arms, my hands, every fingernail, my clothes, even my feet. I forgot about one side being wet and so I sat down on the shelf to paint and put my bare feet over on the side with the wet paint. Ugh. It took at least 30 minutes to scrub the paint off myself. This morning when I was drying my hair, I noticed there was still paint in my hair.
I finally finished. As I was putting my supplies away and cleaning up, guess what I saw? The stupid shelves. Unpainted. I wanted to cry. I couldn't do any more work by that point. They will have to wait until another day. Or fifty. I can hardly move. And I never want to see another paint brush again. Ever.
I don't have the patience necessary to take projects step by step. Maybe if I did, I might actually enjoy working on one. I want it done all at one time. I kept telling myself that painting was relaxing, that I was enjoying myself. Uh, yeah, right. About as much as having an ingrown toenail cut out.
As my family and friends, I have a huge favor to ask. The next time any of you hear me mention project, home improvement, paint or anything of the sort, please remind me that I hate projects. Tie me down, handcuff me, whatever is necessary, but please, never again let me take on another home improvement project. And if it involves painting, then I ask that you knock me out. My memory is short, so I might forget how much I hate doing it.
When I have the shelves back in by Christmas (hopefully), I'll share a picture with y'all of the finished project.
Thanks. And till next time. . . TGIF!