I used to paint, change the colour of the walls of my home, as therapy. I feel that when I'm painting, I don't have to make any conversations, and could just be quiet and enjoy the splashes of new colour. I have had this habit from a long time ago.
Freud might just thought it's because as a child I was deprived in ever helping out with painting. Perhaps, perhaps not.
Anyways, yesterday, instead of just attacking the walls, I decided to do a ceiling. After all, I thought it would be so much simpler to just slap on a fresh coat of paint, as opposed to wet wiping it. WRONG.
I got paint all over my face, my hair, all over me - it was like freckles...although my hair had new streaks. To make things worse, it started to rain a bit...so the daylight was history - had to depend on warm white lights, which didn't help of course.
Lucky me, it was just the ceiling of my dining room.
Now, my next problem would be, who's going to volunteer to do the rest?
Perhaps that's why we have companies who specialise in painting - pay the mullah, and spare ourselves an aching neck, arms and hours in the shower just to make sure my last hair highlights did not get overridden!
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