There. That felt good.
I have begun the preparations for the repainting of the living room. And kitchen. And hallway downstairs.
Afterwards the house needs to be washed and the veranda needs to be painted, because it wasn't painted when the rest of the house was painted last fall, for reasons we shall not go into (hubby is so damned lucky I haven't strangled him to death for that) and then, the green bit around windows, etc. Plus the steps and wooden porch outside need to be sanded and stained.
And then I can start working on the farmhouse.
I am in a black mood. At least I have been. Perhaps not black. More dark gray. And I'm over it. Nearly, almost, definitely partly over it, at least.
The worst of it IS over. I've already started and for some reason these things are always worst right before I get started. When I'm working, I'm fine. It's just work, then. Work is a good old friend. It's the thought of doing it, that has me losing ground. I've tried to act normal and happy. Naturally, it made things worse. I've done some weird things lately. Oy, vey!
I know, as a good wife and mother, I should be thrilled to do these things, but I am not. I just don't like painting and remodeling. Never have.
Perhaps I'll upload some photos when it's done and the new curtains are up.