I've begun the process of transforming the fancy dancy hat boxes. A few of them have been painted. With a first and secondish coat of paint. It must be this pregnancy that's slowing me down, because it usually only takes me 20 minutes to finish any project. I can paint my entire kitchen/dining room in the time it takes my kids to watch Calliou. Almost.
When I get a wild hair, and NEED to do a project, I NEED to do that project now. I want to see the finished results. NOW! It's all too exciting. I have no patience. None. Not even a little.
I used interior paint on those boxes, and it's taking f.o.r.e.v.e.r. for them to cure. They still have the tiniest bit of sticky-ish-ness. Once they're set a little, I'm going to give them some kind of pattern. What kind of pattern? I don't know. And I won't know until I start wrecking on them. That's my style. No real thoughts or plans.....just a lot of jumping right in with out consideration. That's how I roll. Crazy style.
Impatient and callous. My parent's are very proud.
Is that my other problem? Perhaps it's another problem, but not the one I'm considering right now.
My other problem is that now I'm thinking in terms of wanton reckless painting. My bathroom isn't content. It doesn't have cohesion. It has a bad case of mishmash. Random paint colors, free wallpaper, a cluttered counter, wrong shelving.....
When I was putting on my make up this morning, the bathroom started talking to me!
"You should really paint me. I'm feeling neglected. Like an afterthought. Please. Take pitty on me. Go out to the garage and nail together a new armoire for my towels. You know there are random bits of lumber in there. Your husband won't mind. He loves when you go out there and haphazardly staple things together. Mitered corners, shmitered corners. Shabby chic is a style that covers a multitude of crude decorating ills. You know you want to. Go to the paint store and grab a gallon of grey. Not gray. Grey. It's cooler. Like I want to be. Toss in some bits of sand for texture...go to town! Psst. You don't even need to mention it to anyone. Before they know it, it will be done. It will only take you 20 minutes."
The stinker. It knows just what to say. So, now, once those boxes are finished, I might just have another project on my hands. (Unless the man I'm married to reads this first and locks up the garage when he leaves for work.)