For the record, I’m indoorsy, but I’m not remotely handy.
Which is why it borders on the insane that I’ve got this bee in my bonnet about home repair.
For an apartment that I rent.
Yes, yes. Insane. I know. I did say that, didn’t I?
But, look. The apartment complex would come and paint for me (I’ve done my time here, and it looks awful) BUT
- they would want me to move all my furniture anyway
- they wouldn’t patch, clean, or cover anything anyway
- they spray the cheapest quality paint over every surface and leave the drips as they are anyway
So how much worse could it be if I just touch things up a bit, right?
Right. In theory.
So, I went to Lowe’s, and bought some basic supplies. Which, incidentally, rack up quickly. Holy moly.
And then I came home, and — knowing I have the ladies coming this weekend and therefore can’t really be moving furniture and taping off surfaces in public areas — decided to just do some prep in the one room that only I see anyway: the bedroom.
Not that I can paint in there just yet, but there are some places that the walls are cracking and peeling. In a neat little corner that’s easy enough to prep and dig in there with all my newbie gusto and get started. Get my feet wet, as it were. Except not literally, as that would mean disaster.
So I did. I dug right in there, and started working in that one corner.
And in the process I discovered that there are places where the only thing separating my bedroom from whatever lives in the eaves over me is the paint on the walls.
Which means that now the only thing separating my bedroom from whatever lives in the eaves over me is the spackle holding together the remains of broken-through paint in the corner of the walls.
This, my friends, is not how I wanted this to go.
Onward and upward. Tomorrow is another day. I’m sure I can accidentally demolish some other aspect of my apartment and become thoroughly discouraged then, too.