I mentioned just the other day that I like painting and find it calming.
With a few hours free today, I thought it would be nice to get up early and roll some paint out on deck for an hour or so. By 0600, I was breakfasted and caffeinated and was running a push broom across the area I was going to paint- the deck itself.
So I grabbed a 5-gallon bucket of paint, mixed it up, and added a gallon of fine sand, and a pint of coarse sandblasting grit to make the deck a nice nonskid surface, so it doesn't turn into a skating rink in the ice and snow of winter.
I rolled out the first bucket in an hour. I told you, I dig this shit. I was in the zone- mellow and enjoying the cool but sunny quiet morning, not a soul to be seen.
So I mix up another 5-gallon bucket. While I'm walking to where I left off with painting, I trip over something, possibly my own two feet, and the paint bucket goes flying, and I follow it, end up in the rapidly growing pool of $500 worth of paint and sand now on deck. And, in trying to quickly get up, I slip in the wet paint, go down again, and roll right through the entire pool.
So I sort things out, crawl out of the wet puddle of paint, and get up, start tidying.
On the upside, the 3 cans of ether I used to clean myself off had a very calming effect. I was very zen about being in my underwear on deck, and took a dispassionate, philosophical view of the fact that my taint is now a non-skid surface.
Ho hum – the shit talking continues
3 minutes ago