Painting: the Least Fun You Can Have On Your Own At Home

Every time I set my little DIY-retarded ass a task I forget how utterly shit and traumatising it was the last time. There’s paint on the floor, in my hair, on the rug, on my special painting pants and lord knows where else.

I bought semi-gloss instead of gloss and now have to re-do everything. It’s low odour gloss so I’m not even getting a cheap and slightly legal high.

I ordered stickers – STICKERS !!! to spruce up my bedroom and bathroom which is probably as stupid as it sounds but preferable to painting and they haven’t even arrived in the post so who can say?

I’ve taken every taster colour card in every shade of green and blue from Bunnings and still can’t decide what colour to paint the bathroom and now I just might not bother cos painting sucks balls and I make bad decisions. See above.

I still have not: done my tax return, taken the cat to the vet, had my car serviced, paid my bills, finished writing the stupid dumb novel and I have two days of “work at home-yay!” holiday left. And I have not been out for a boozy lunch either. Booh.

On the plus side, I fixed the light switch and the door handle using only a screw and a screwdriver – really all that was required, but I impressed myself. Thanks Dad for the toolbox and having less than no faith in my abilities growing up so I never learned anything apart from making you coffee and toast while you taught my sister how to Get Shit Done.

If he was reading this he would probably remind me of the time I re-wired the fuses without switching the mains off after calling my sister at work and getting her to explain it to me, but she forgot to mention losing the power bit cos she thought that was obvious and I’m apparently lucky to be alive.

My mind does not compute. It does not come to the logical conclusion of how to Fix A Thing. It turns on the tears and begs for help from someone more qualified than me. Try as I might to use my instinct, my brain, a manual, it just Does Not Fucking Work.

So, in short, it’s slightly amazing I’ve made it this far and painting is the goddamn easy bit. I once put a chair and a coffee table together but pretend husband Mike had to come round and fix the chair and do all the other chairs. I’m a DIY failure. And that makes me mad because I want to be good at it. I don’t want to rely on other people to do it for me. I don’t want to be scared of electricity and be told by my Dad my job is to sweep and buy beer while he and Mike are putting in my kitchen.

Actually, maybe I do. Beer and sweeping sounds like shit I got down pat. Le Sigh.


About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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