Yesterday I got decided to re-paint the bathroom. Well, it didn't start that way. It started with the pantry in the kitchen, where Fred had seen some mold up high by the ceiling a few days ago. Armed with fresh 2009 energy, I set out to scrub down when Fred left for his run. An hour later, I had finished scrubbing the pantry down with bleach, had returned everything to its place, and moved on to the bathroom. There was a little mold up there by the window, what the hell. This time scrubbing wasn't enough. The paint wore thin and spotty from the bleach. The poor sad wall, I thought, he just wants to feel fresh and new.
By the time Fred got back I had painted. Sort of. More like it, i just threw a first coat on the wall without a thought about how to proceed. Part of the wall, that is. This is how it looks at the moment:
Now it's the last day of vacation, and I start work tomorrow full-force. More than full force. We've got the musical to premiere, a new piece to make with Johannes, and one last Selbstauslöser to dance this Saturday. What would happen to my bathroom walls? Fred mercifully stepped in to the rescue, promised to finish the job. On one condition: I was not to put the paint roller to those walls again.
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