The Agony of Creation...

I forgot to take a proper
before photo. But imagine
a fairly light curtain on  
that wall, that's broken
 so looks bad, and with 
photos pegged onto it.

There's that thing that happens when someone has given birth. Having survived the trauma of excreting a small human from their body, they vehemently utter statements like NEVER AGAIN or OVER MY DEAD BODY only to announce they are expecting their next child a few years later. Do they forget their immediate thoughts in the months and years that follow? Are they masochists? Or is the lure of motherhood too strong to be blown off course by the fading memory of torn skin and stitches? I have no idea. And yet, this week, I have lived analogously. Oh yes. No childbirth involved but plenty of physical activity that I'd forgotten was required since the last time I did this. If you read last week's blog you might have an inkling of what I speak. I only went and did it, didn't I. Yep, I decorated my spare room! I took on a DIY/home decor project, fully forgetting the hell involved since the last time I did it.

In the thick of it.

Almost as soon as I began, I regretted it. To fully survive the decorating process in tact, a daily regime of Pilates and yoga for the previous decade is a base-level requirement. Unfortunately, I did not have that under my belt. I had only unhooked the fairy light curtain and removed the pegged Polaroids that adorned it, before my upper arms felt like they were made of jelly. For the rest of the day my hand shook whenever I tried to lift a mug of tea to my mouth. As I was thigh-deep in plastic sheeting, paint brushes, and streaks of Polyfilla, drinking tea rarely happened. Not only were my arms sore but my head ached from the dehydration. My arms continued to shake with every rotation of the roller. Two coats on the ceiling and four on the walls did nothing to help my biceps chillax. Not one bit. And then there were my legs. A regular bending and crouching motion to apply masking tape to the skirting boards, saw the backs of my thighs roar with the 0-60mph surge they were experiencing for the first time in their lives. Sitting at a laptop does not prepare you for bending. Print that on a T shirt. It was clear I wasn't cut out for the physical exertions of wanting a new wall colour. And yet I had started so I had to finish. 

And I have finished. Like the sore new mum that's over her labour hell, I am metaphorically the parent to a bouncing baby bedroom. Put simply - because I think I've stretched the baby metaphor to confusion - a week since I decided I was up for a home project, it's all done and the aches and pains are fading. What was once my insipidly-lilac spare room/junk store is now the most beautiful teal and mustard boudoir in all the land. Like the mother with the kid, I'm utterly proud of my spare room, my own efforts, and my genius in creating such a phenomenon. Plus my leg muscles hurt less with each day. 

DRAMA 

I can honestly say my Linda Barker-esque desire to titivate my surroundings has been satiated. NEVER AGAIN. OVER MY DEAD BODY. BLAH BLAH BLAH. Of course, like the parent of multiple children, these are mere words. It's actions that count. At some point, I may find myself feeling like I did last week. When I can't sleep and I have the sudden urge to do a Changing Rooms. If that urge should strike, I should remind myself of some basic facts from the past seven days.

• Neptune's Castle is a lovely paint colour but it has been impossible to scrub from my nails. Walking around like Elphaba is not a good look, even in October.
• Stepping the wrong way down the step ladder helps no one. I managed to avoid splashing paint on the floor at the expense of landing on my elbow and back and spectacularly bruising my inner arm.
• If a project requires actual warm-up and cool-down moves, and/or the use of pain relief the following day, I might as well join an exercise class and cut out the middle woman. 
• One thing leads to another. Throwing out the junk stashed in the corner of the bedroom was one thing. This led to a garden shed clear out, as well as getting rid of some old crap from the garage. The upshot is that two whole skips have been filled. This was NEVER the plan.

Ta da! My baby!

JFK's interior designer, Sister Parish, once said, 'Behind every attractive room there should be a very good reason.' And she's right. Last week I blamed COVID for forcing my brain to obsess about a new bedroom colour scheme, and I'm sure it's partly that. But there's more at play here. It's been a week since I sent my new book to the editor. With that gone for weeks, and my control over it removed, I am clearly at a loose end. My brain has focused on writing it for over a year. I suppose the idea of doing instead of thinking about something was too strong an urge to ignore. With nothing to tinker with on my laptop, I got slap-happy with a paint brush. What is apparent, however, is that as I continue to wait for book feedback, I really need to find alternative activities to fill the void. I'm so over stretching and bending. So if you need me, you'll find me resting horizontally, keeping my muscles at peak slack. At least until my next paint colour obsession hits. When I've forgotten all the agony involved.

Have a lovely week, folks.