There’s a pile of buckets and trowels in the middle of my house. There is a plastic tarp over my sewing machine. It snowed yesterday. So I did what anybody would have done, and I crocheted a pincushion.
You know, as one does. I crawled underneath a tarp and rummaged in a plastic box until I found a hook, and went into a different room, away from the massive mess. I really can’t even look in there right now. I just want to whimper and suck my thumb, and make it go awaaaaay.
I have such a hard time with this stuff, this repainting and re-doing. I always know it’s going to be rough, but it’s always rougher than I thought it would be. I really love order, and this is the opposite of order. This is all my stuff—my stuff, my yarn and fabric and needles and embroidery hoops and everything—shoved off into the corner under a bunch of plastic. This is paint chips all over my new furniture. This is me not being able to find the iron. This is waiting around while stuff dries. And a continuous mess. Dean (that’s the husband) likes to work until he’s panting and half dead, then just put down the scraper and walk away, but I really, really feel a need to clean everything up in between, so I’m down on my knees mopping up drywall globs at 11:00 pm because I know that if I come downstairs in the morning and that’s what I see, I will not be able to have a good day. I also really, really need to have these projects done ASAP, but he has a rather more liberal expectation, timeframe-wise. He’s happy with “it’s starting to look better.”
Since I want it to look good when it’s finally over, I’m taking deep breaths and being as patient as possible, and, since I know where the hooks are, I am crocheting stuff.