The Lie

There is a lie I tell myself. It is the same lie and I tell it over and over. And I've told myself this lie for years. I like to paint. Except I don't.

Seriously. Does anyone like to paint? Professional painters are miserable, right? Every time I decide I need to paint a room, the same thing happens. I'm in hog heaven picking out colors and planning and matching and decorating. But then it comes time to get out the painters tape and that old feeling creeps in. How I'm gonna get paint in my hair, ruin a set of clothes, not have a paper towel when I need one, and probably run out of paint before its done.

These are the mistakes I usually make:

Not buying Behr paint. Its really the best and yesterday for my paint project, I went to Ace. *Regret.

Not getting everything I need together before I start. I need a paper towel. I need some music. I need a drink. I need the toolbox.

I get put out with it before I'm done and start trying to apply coats on top of not-dry coats.

Not taping everything off because I think, "Oh, that doesn't look that hard."

Recently, when staying in a house belonging to some friends, I told them I would finish up some painting for them. I even said, "Oh, I don't mind! I love to paint!" Then I had an out-of-body experience where I looked at myself and said incredulously, "No you don't!". I'm ridiculous.

I thought about this the whole time I was painting Gavin's bathroom. And finally when I was done, I realized why I do it. When it was all complete, everything was put back and finished up, I stopped and stood in the doorway of the bathroom about ten times admiring how much better it was. From crimson red to a very pale yellow. Much better. It was all about the end result.