mercredi 13 mai 2009

Chut! Perfect silence, please

Perfectionist at work.


One corner, taped and primed


Remind me never to say, I think I'll just freshen those walls up with a coat of white paint. There is just no such thing (in my world) as a little paint job. Audouin came in after work the other evening, looked around and asked, "Tu es sure que tu vas pouvoir finir pour ta demi-soeur?"

Of course I will be able to finish for the arrival of my recently found half-sister. No problem! "Bien sur," I lied, "l'autre chambre est beaucoup plus facile."

"Et plus grande." He had to remind me. Don't say that, I thought. Please, don't say that.

"Oui, mais je peux poncer le crépis [that's the ticket]. C'est comme un plâtre et pas comme cette pièce." I'll just sand down all those fancy things in the plaster work, slap on -- no! no! -- some plaster, sand it fast and whip on that paint. Yeah.

I knew then I had a problem. There was nearly no way to finish in the time remaining, and that was before the rain started dripping down the inside of the walls yesterday, staining the ceiling where I had done a short-cut job cleaning up (hiding) the black mold.

Today I noticed a puddle under the sink, running off toward the toilet where it saturated the towel we had put down -- wait. Towel on the floor? Why had we done that? Was there already a leak I have forgotten? And I told the carpet layer that the bathroom is dry and barely gets used when he asked if I was sure I want sea grass in there.

Oh oh.

Yesterday, Sam came in and stuck his finger in the plaster mix on my trowel and started fingering it onto the smooth wall.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

"I wanted to see what it feels like."

"You're wiping it on the area I just finished." There were finger smudges in the freshly troweled and painstakingly smoothed plaster.

"Oh. Where can I wipe it?"

"There, where it's bright white. It's dry already there." I sent him to the store and troweled what he had wiped onto the wall. He owes me. I got him his MacBook Pro.

This morning, I noticed all the things (imperfections) I can't live with and fought as hard as I could against mixing up some more plaster. I need to paint. I struggled. I couldn't stand it. I sanded elsewhere. I really need to paint. My eyes drifted back to those spots. I tried hard not to, and then I gave up. I went and mixed more plaster, thinking It will have time to dry while I cut-in.

I really need to paint.

I am going to start a support group for perfectionists of little patience in an imperfect world, entitled POLPIANIWS Anonymous.

Maybe I should leave a few letters out? But, which ones? Stress! I need the perfect acronym.


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