I have paint spattered on my hair and smears on my legs and arms. I paint in cut-offs with a bandanna covering most of my head, but it never matters how careful I am, I always make a mess. I’m painting my house. Two 8-hour days and many more to come. My hand is claw-like from gripping the brush. I have interesting blisters along my index finger and the inside knuckle of my thumb. I am sporting many strategically-placed bandages. I dream about the baseboard and painting window frames- my least favorite things.
I long for my 1000-word-a-day days and the peace of writing. I am trying to sink mermaid-like into the Zen of painting, the to and fro, the back and forth, the hushed whoomph of the roller, but I worry about having to scrub the floor of splats after the long day is done, and of forgetting to clean my brushes.

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