I Hate Painting

I hate painting with the fiery heat of a thousand suns.

I suck at it. Do I suck at it because I hate it or do I hate it because I suck at it? It’s a chicken and the egg sorta thing. I’d rather just have a western omelet for breakfast and buffalo wings for lunch and be done with ‘em both.

So the room the girls will be sleeping in as of Thursday’s all done. At the behest of Top Management, I painted it the same shade of blue as The Blue Room back by the Blue Ridge Mountains. It’s about a third the size, but we’re going to be getting bunk beds, so that’ll be kinda cool.

Unfortunately, it really looks like a mildly talented twelve-year-old did a half-decent job on the painting. I just suck so bad. On the upside, it only took about a dozen hours to do a job that awful. So there’s that.

Comments

[DT]

The key is to be SO bad at painting that you're never asked to do it again. You seem well on your way to doing just that - keep it up. Paint across the grain, leave bare spots, splatter a lot, even switch up colors if you have to. I did that a few years ago when painting our church's new classrooms, albeit unintentionally. But the bottom line is the job I did was so comically inept that people now insist - IN-SIST! - that I not be allowed within a half-mile of a paint brush. I think they even put up flyers about me, in other towns. That's what you want - it becomes one more thing you don't have to do. So, as you see, your ineptitude? Sheer brilliance. BRILLIANCE! Bravo, sir.