If I were not a nice person I would post a picture of Ann painting the guest bedroom closet in her underwear.
Alas, I am a nice person most days and so I will not take the too cute picture of Ann stretched out with the painting roller in her right hand, reaching the tall corners of the rather large closet, her tan underwear, holey and frayed, jiggling as she strokes the paint across the walls.
This is our last big paint job within the house. We still need to paint the fence, but today it was too hot and frankly, we were both taking it slow. Now, as the air cools off and we listen to the WNBA semi-final game between Detroit and Connecticut, Ann paints the closet and I rearrange the hallway closet to hold office supplies instead of everything else we've collected in four years of marriage...
gloves
hats
lightbulbs
bike locks
boxes of nails
boxes of razor blades
snowshoes
elastic exercise bands
an electric air pump
a mangled bike pump
tennis rackets
cannister after cannister of tennis balls
the clock I bought Ann for her birthday a month after we met
a compass
camping matches
bug repellent
an ice scraper
bungee cords
two frisbees
and an umbrella
I'm avoiding the sorting through of such detritus and the game is not going in the direction I'd like (Connecticut is losing).
The cure for procrastination...or perhaps a productive extension of it...blogging.
And still Ann paints away, her bottom smiling at me from the closet.
2 comments:
Oh, yes-- detritus. R & I have our fair share of the stuff, too, and have been stunned by the amounts of it this past weekend, vowing to stop the madness of collection and acquiring.
Good to see/read you again.
Exactomundo. The cure for ANY type of procrastination is doing ANYTHING ELSE, especially anything else that has nothing to do with whatever one is procrastinating against. Me, right now I am supposed to returning three packages of Aleister's underwear for three pacs of a smaller size....but what am I doing? Responding to your blog, of course. Having just written a blog about Aleister, while I was supposed to be picking out a top to wear to Target and then to work. I have lived for enarly 61 (!) years in this way, and I have completed all sorts of behaviors, missions, tasks which I would never have done otherwise. In fact, I am certain I got my Ph.D. because I was actually supposed to be doing Something Else.
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