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I am Michelangelo
Jul. 25th, 2006 12:32 pmYes, yes, I finished the freaking cross-dimensional ceiling. Yesterday. At 11:30pm. After starting at 9am. Full story here:
So, I woke up and realized the partner was staying home from work, which of course I thought meant he was going to help with the ceiling. No. His best friend (who also happens to be his ex) stopped by with some work issue things and before hitting the ceiling upstairs I decided to play one game of Ticket To Ride online. A treat to myself.
I lost. Horribly. The game started to go wrong almost immediately because someone took a leg I needed, but I thought "oh well" I can go around. Then someone took that route. Still a path free, so no real worries. Someone blocked that. At this point I had only one possible way to get to Vancouver.
And the next player took that.
I got pissed. I don't think this was anger at the game or the players, this tapped into the pissed-at-the-partner anger that's been building since the flood here. (He didn't help me clean out my part of the storage area that got wet.) So I chuck the computer aside (gently) and he picks up on the fact that I'm pissed, but he thinks it's because of the game. He laughs. Ex laughs. They start teasing me about the game.
I get ROYALLY pissed, and storm off to the 4th floor, where the anger ends up in tears like it always does. Of course he comes up and finds me there getting all the crap ready for the painting. We begin discussing the issues (not angry anymore, an actual discussion). He runs off to deal with the work issues while I start painting with the horribly, nasty, designed-by-the-devil roller thingie.
About 5 minutes into painting, something drips from the end of the roller. Paint. But it's not supposed to drip from that end. I climb down from the ladder and check it out. Don't see anything really wrong, just paint coming out where it's not supposed to in an occasional but not annoying drip. I climb up and continue painting. Drip, drip. I climb down, check again, then say, "Oh well, it's not major, I have a dropcloth, I'll just paint and let it drip." Climb back up . . . and this time it drips a major drip down my back AND my front. (Still painting only in shorts.)
Ok, remember that anger earlier. Ah yes. It's returned. Because of course our discussion only got started, not resolved. So when he gets back from his work errand, I'm at the sink ripping the roller apart, once again royally pissed. I tell him that the bleepity-bleep roller thingie is broken and I don't bleepity-bleep know why because I spent bleeping hours cleaning and carefully scrubbing and petroleum-jellying every bleeping part yesterday, it should be working like God cleaned it. He's trying to calm me down and trying to find a solution. All of a sudden I say, "Where's this part?" There's a little knob that goes on the end of part of the roller part that according to the instructions is extremely important and must be BATHED in petroleum jelly if the thing is every going to work again. I don't see it. We search. We still don't see it. Partner decides to run and buy a new roller thingie (his solution) and I tell him I'll finish cleaning the damn thing and just work on edging.
He leaves. I find the knob stuck inside the roller thing. It is indeed broken. I edge. By the time he gets back I've edged most of it, but he brings with him a new roller and a check from DAW.
Checks are nice.
We break for lunch. We have and finish the serious discussion, fight over, etc, etc, etc. I go back up to finish edging and dig out the new roller. It's a MUCH, MUCH better roller than the previous one. It doesn't hang a gallon of paint off of your shoulder; it sits on the floor with a long hose. There's no pouring of paint into a container; you use the paintcan itself. It has no funky easily-broken knob thingie.
It's now 3:30, so I start on the rest of the ceiling while the partner cleans flood-damaged glass things. He leaves to teach at the gym. I continue painting. And I paint. And I paint. He returns, brings me a lemonade coolatta from Dunkin Donuts (these things rock, BTW). Later he brings me dinner. I say I have at least an hour left. He laughs, thinking I'm joking. I continue to paint. And then, finally, I'm done. I spend the next hour cleaning the new roller. Much easier to clean but still annoying.
My body hurts. My calves kept cramping up last night while sleeping because of standing on the ladder. My shoulders are killing me. My arms are killing me. I have bruises. An extremely large amount of anger is gone, but at the same time some of the flood issues I'd been holding inside (along with a few other things) are out there and resolved, or at least discussed.
And the ceiling is done. Some touch-up here and there needed where I couldn't see whether I'd painted it sufficiently last night in the dark, but that's not a problem. Now the walls, which should be much, much easier.
But before that, another chapter must be written. Goal this week (by Thursday): finish chapter 6.
I better get busy.
So, I woke up and realized the partner was staying home from work, which of course I thought meant he was going to help with the ceiling. No. His best friend (who also happens to be his ex) stopped by with some work issue things and before hitting the ceiling upstairs I decided to play one game of Ticket To Ride online. A treat to myself.
I lost. Horribly. The game started to go wrong almost immediately because someone took a leg I needed, but I thought "oh well" I can go around. Then someone took that route. Still a path free, so no real worries. Someone blocked that. At this point I had only one possible way to get to Vancouver.
And the next player took that.
I got pissed. I don't think this was anger at the game or the players, this tapped into the pissed-at-the-partner anger that's been building since the flood here. (He didn't help me clean out my part of the storage area that got wet.) So I chuck the computer aside (gently) and he picks up on the fact that I'm pissed, but he thinks it's because of the game. He laughs. Ex laughs. They start teasing me about the game.
I get ROYALLY pissed, and storm off to the 4th floor, where the anger ends up in tears like it always does. Of course he comes up and finds me there getting all the crap ready for the painting. We begin discussing the issues (not angry anymore, an actual discussion). He runs off to deal with the work issues while I start painting with the horribly, nasty, designed-by-the-devil roller thingie.
About 5 minutes into painting, something drips from the end of the roller. Paint. But it's not supposed to drip from that end. I climb down from the ladder and check it out. Don't see anything really wrong, just paint coming out where it's not supposed to in an occasional but not annoying drip. I climb up and continue painting. Drip, drip. I climb down, check again, then say, "Oh well, it's not major, I have a dropcloth, I'll just paint and let it drip." Climb back up . . . and this time it drips a major drip down my back AND my front. (Still painting only in shorts.)
Ok, remember that anger earlier. Ah yes. It's returned. Because of course our discussion only got started, not resolved. So when he gets back from his work errand, I'm at the sink ripping the roller apart, once again royally pissed. I tell him that the bleepity-bleep roller thingie is broken and I don't bleepity-bleep know why because I spent bleeping hours cleaning and carefully scrubbing and petroleum-jellying every bleeping part yesterday, it should be working like God cleaned it. He's trying to calm me down and trying to find a solution. All of a sudden I say, "Where's this part?" There's a little knob that goes on the end of part of the roller part that according to the instructions is extremely important and must be BATHED in petroleum jelly if the thing is every going to work again. I don't see it. We search. We still don't see it. Partner decides to run and buy a new roller thingie (his solution) and I tell him I'll finish cleaning the damn thing and just work on edging.
He leaves. I find the knob stuck inside the roller thing. It is indeed broken. I edge. By the time he gets back I've edged most of it, but he brings with him a new roller and a check from DAW.
Checks are nice.
We break for lunch. We have and finish the serious discussion, fight over, etc, etc, etc. I go back up to finish edging and dig out the new roller. It's a MUCH, MUCH better roller than the previous one. It doesn't hang a gallon of paint off of your shoulder; it sits on the floor with a long hose. There's no pouring of paint into a container; you use the paintcan itself. It has no funky easily-broken knob thingie.
It's now 3:30, so I start on the rest of the ceiling while the partner cleans flood-damaged glass things. He leaves to teach at the gym. I continue painting. And I paint. And I paint. He returns, brings me a lemonade coolatta from Dunkin Donuts (these things rock, BTW). Later he brings me dinner. I say I have at least an hour left. He laughs, thinking I'm joking. I continue to paint. And then, finally, I'm done. I spend the next hour cleaning the new roller. Much easier to clean but still annoying.
My body hurts. My calves kept cramping up last night while sleeping because of standing on the ladder. My shoulders are killing me. My arms are killing me. I have bruises. An extremely large amount of anger is gone, but at the same time some of the flood issues I'd been holding inside (along with a few other things) are out there and resolved, or at least discussed.
And the ceiling is done. Some touch-up here and there needed where I couldn't see whether I'd painted it sufficiently last night in the dark, but that's not a problem. Now the walls, which should be much, much easier.
But before that, another chapter must be written. Goal this week (by Thursday): finish chapter 6.
I better get busy.
