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Sunday, 3.12.06: Just Call Me Grace
Sunday is my usual day for political ranting, but I had a good rant on Friday and must have blown off all my steam. Or maybe I'm suffering from outrage fatigue.
I was halfway through painting the ceiling...
I'm more absorbed with practical things, like getting my bathrooms done.
I arranged with our contractor that I'd do the painting. I'm halfway competent at it and, with the kitchen, painting (or waiting for someone with a paintbrush) was what seemed to take forever at the end.
Anyway, they aren't near done with their work in the bathrooms, but done enough that it might be a good idea to paint the ceilings -- before toilets etc. get reinstalled.
Oh, first -- I decided to "texturize" the walls in our "Mexican" powder room, so I spent some time slapping wall board "mud" on the little 3 x 6 space. It's possible it will look like shit, so I'll apply a little paint over it to check it out. But that's today's project.
Well, back to the ceiling. It's such a small space, like I said, so I filled a little plastic bucket to hold and just used a sponge brush, not bothering to set up a roller. We've had a beat-up 3-legged foot stool around here forever. It comes in handing for changing light bulbs, etc. and seemed much more efficient that trying to squeeze the stepladder into the space.
To make a long story short, I was halfway through painting the ceiling when the short stool split in two, right across the seat. Down I went. On my butt. I could hear Jim racing toward the commotion from upstairs.
...when the short stool split in two...
"I'm okay," I yelled.
And I was. Still holding my brush and pot of paint, with only a couple ounces spilled. My elbow banged something on the way down but that was the only sign of injury. I'd say it was my athletic grace that made me float like a butterfly when the seat split, but we all know that'd be a lie. But maybe all those yoga classes helped me take the fall without folding like a bad poker hand.