P109: Pain and Paint
I painted all day today and the colors are my happiness. I felt so full of it I even found a bunch of old bottles of acrylic craft paints and made up several pearlized pinks with metalic copper thrown into the mix. Hell, I don't even like pink and I thought this was fantastic. We are painting an old weathered fence down a narrow walkway. We are mixing these free paints and watering them down so that they act more like a wash or a stain to the old wood. The grain still comes through, but the look is fresh. It also helps make the walkway appear wider because it is brighter. It isn't done though. I had to stop.
Thing is my hands are killin' me from this past couple weeks of intense manual work with my mitts. I don't have the endurance right now. I think it is making me cranky.
People can be such a royal pain in the ass about paint. This is an observation based on a career in commercial interior design. Some people treat a color selection like it is a decision about surgery. It is fucking paint.
I simply can't believe the number of people (especially men) who say stupid shit about the fence. How terrified are people of color? (Jeebus, what an appropriate question in this racist culture.) It is fucking paint, folks. I am not attempting to re-wire your homes or remove your plumbing. If you are that upset about 70-100 fence slats no longer in their faded, moldy state - please avert your eyes and hurry past the cobalt blues, aqua, raisin, lilac, paprika, etc. Keep your arms close to your body so as not to touch the happy boards.
Same with the garden. . . Trained to critique it seems. Because these same people haven't volunteered their help they might have to help themselves to a cup of shut the fuck up.
Early to bed tonight. Tomorrow I am devoting all of my time and attention to my neglected personal space as I am likely to bite someone in the public sphere.