It’s Alive

For two years or maybe three I’ve stared at two spots, one on the wall in my bedroom and one in the bathroom, that needed retouching. The one in the bathroom was the result of a roof leak, since repaired, while the one in the bedroom happened when I took down the TV over the closet. I’d fixed the holes and did the spackling, all that was needed was an application of wall texture and paint. During the reign of my wife, those spots who have had a survival rate of near zero. For me it might as well have been the death zone on Everest with my legs failing. Every night I went to bed, looking at the spots on the walls, and every day, I did nothing. Kind of sad, actually.

That all changed this past Monday after talking with a friend who is on the same sort of post spousal death march. After hearing the details of maybe the fourth of fifth remodeling project of their home, it occurred to me that fixing my spots might be therapeutic, and that I should get off my dead ass. My friend offered encouragement. So, I bought the texture, bought the paint, and got after it. The texture worked, the paint covered, and I feel better. Since a gallon of paint goes a long way when you only have bits of wall to paint, I’ve been on a touch up spree, washing walls, filling holes, painting. It feels good.

Next up I’m going to paint the outside doors, because again, my wife would have done that long ago. She did like a tidy house and that included all the bits that required paint. In fact, as I’ve been working in the house, I’m running across all sorts of spots that she’d touched up years ago when the house was new, and she was trying to keep it looking that way. It sort of makes me feel like the team is still together and that’s what’s known as making the best of a bad situation.