It happens from time to time, that despite the best will in the world, a visible need for a action, and a timescale to work to... that one can’t be arsed... or one is so sick and fed up with, cement, plaster, paint, fillers, sandpaper, caulk, tile trim, profiling tools, brushes and all the other associated paraphernalia of decorating that one looks at the job in hand and suffers a mental breakdown of sorts. This breakdown is best described as above “Can’t be arsed”.
On Friday I made a frame to box in some ugly pipes and did some painting, filling and tidying up ready for radiator mounting, in between times I painted the final coats indoors, used the drying time between coats indoors to pick out the timber frame in the cupboards in the Moho with undercoat, reinforced the wall that the shower tap mounts on and through so the tap feels firm and the pipes can be supported for their entire length. On Saturday I cut the MDF panels and fitted them to the frame I made on Friday in the kitchen, did some caulking, more painting indoors and in the moho, drilled a big hole through the reinforcing in the Moho to mount the tap and smaller holes to mount the shower head holder.
Then on Sunday we snagged our paint, marked and measured for the radiator brackets (relatively easy but for stupid misleading instructions that were disregarded in favour of measuring everything ourselves to eliminate the oddities in the drawing supplied). We then mounted the radiator and finally cut a hole in a panel in the Moho for shower pipes to run neatly to the pump, made all the pipe connections... and took out a panel that looked grotty and decided to give it a fine lick of paint for added luminescence in the wardrobe.
Three paragraphs cannot convey the measure of the work and the hours put in, I started at 07.30 Friday morning and finished at 21.45 as an example. I’m whinging I know I’m whinging.... I don’t care. The joy of achieving a result has faded into the drudge of work, diy, sleep, work, diy, sleep. Fifty fifty monotony and fatigue are wearing me thin. It’s the time to dig deep and find little bits of fun and still crack on. With this in mind Amanda got us tickets to Madonna in Hyde Park... we went straight from work on Tuesday and after the knackering weekend, getting in at 12.30am Tuesday morning means that today Wednesday “I can’t be arsed” has now reached I can’t be arsed plus... this translates to bad tempered impatient exchanges with... well everyone everywhere really.
And as for Madonna well it was a break. That’s all, I preferred the two warm up acts Martin Solveig and LMFAO, maybe being tired didn’t help, but Madonna was preaching the cause of the Basque people like it’s a new subject ... hello you Yankee fuck nugget we live in Europe it’s been happening on and off all my life and I paid for music not a fucking lecture on human rights. So today, there is no work except this scribble, today I’m watching telly, sofa surfing and going to bed at 10pm. Tomorrow I’ll look at where we are, and get ready the flooring, at some point during the day I’ll order the new left leg for the Moho awning and try and find a new canvas for it.
I know we are nearly there at home but it still feels like a mountain needs to be climbed, and I feel the weight of the eight months until we get on our way pressing on me. At the back of my mind is the knowledge that any summer left will be short, and house selling is never easy in winter. Can’t be arsed is a fucker, because there is no doubt that when you can’t be arsed... well that’s probably the time when you really need to pull your finger out and get it together.