Non-knit

but exciting nonetheless.

After six months of procrastination, bouts of depression, hang-overs and any other excuse I could come up with, I bring you this:


I love, love, love lilac. Smells good as a flower (not as paint, paint smell is yucky) and I look fantastic wearing the colour. Someone (I think it was A) told me that the bathroom colour should be flattering to you. I couldn't agree more. My face, even un-made up and pasty while painting looked much more rosy and even-toned when I caught a glance of myself in the mirror. And that was before I broke out the celebratory wine while doing the touch-ups.

I am so proud of myself. And man, do I love spring. I actually feel like doing stuff instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself.

I had such a good time today that I'm wandering around the house (it takes about three seconds to do a lap) wondering what to paint next.

These are my options:

• The dining room (which is a good idea, I could finally assemble my new ginormous bookcase and unpack my books). And have a proper place to eat (and read the newspaper).



• The kitchen. True, I do enjoy cooking more now than I used to, and therefore spend more time in the kitchen that I ever thought I would have. It's amazing what buying real estate does to a person's dining habits.
  


• Finish the storeroom so I can move all those blasted Rubbermaid totes of precious junk in there and then...



• Finish painting the concrete in the basement. The basement concrete, where intact, is covered in hospital-green paint. I kid you not.
  


• I could finish stripping the wallpaper in the study and fix all the cracks. Then paint. I really should do something with this room. I spend most of my time here, and I do want to procure a daybed so I have a place for guests to sleep (or me to nap).
  


• Arts 'n' crafts outdoorsy projects - I have lots of left-over paint, in fun colours and plant pots that would look lovely outside filled with flowers...



• I could walk down to Canadian Tire and buy paint for my front and back doors (the little grey bungalow needs some pizazz. I'm a saucy girl, so my house shouldn't look boring. It should match me). What was I saying about spring? I waaant to be outside!
  

Oh my dog, the knitting startitis has taking over my home-improvement efforts. Is there no hope? Doesn't matter, I'm feeling alive right now, and that's all that counts.

This is fun! More pictures:



Before. Notice the tape? I did that in October. So long ago that the humidity from my showers had steamed a bunch off. Argh.






A clearer view of the tape.

Obligatory self-portrait. See the man-sized hands? Not pretty, I know, but those hands are strong, and I'm just fine with that. Well, more than fine. I have this weird thing about noticing things about me and figuring out where in my family tree those things came from. Those are my mom's hands, but sized up to match my dad's stature. Love 'em.

Also, can you believe I used to wear that sweatshirt in public? Granted, I was much less fashion-savvy and had NO MONEY, but still, that's a Glamour Don't if I've ever seen one. To be truthful, it was a gift to my ex-husband from his mother, but it was too small for him, so I got it. Perfect for painting, now that I'm done college (well, I've been done for several years) and have an income to buy nicer clothes, oops, I mean a house.

Conclusion: Chez Peepee* is a good place to be today.

Why? Well, in a bazillion years of renting, I never before have been able to dry and curl my hair in the same room as having a shower and applying my makeup. Owning a house lets you have things like this:

Not a big deal, maybe, but that's MY outlet in the bathroom, and no landlord is going to give me shit for painting it purple. Yup, life is good.

*One of my darling cats has had some plumbing problems over the past couple months. As a result, there's some, um, leakage. Needless to say, I've had to be much more diligent about my housework, and my dry cleaning bill has gone through the roof. I'm pretty sure he's worth it. Painting took about twice as long as it should have because the little bugger had to sit on my lap and purr whenever I sat down to let the paint dry. Yet another reason to have kept that scabby sweatshirt. Technically, this is HIS cat. Parker can pee on it all he likes. I think I got the better deal.