We spent all weekend painting. I’m pretty pleased with the colors but I doubt our landlady will be. Initially she’d asked that we do some sort of color wash/decorative/faux painting kind of thing, and at first I wasn’t opposed to it. But after two coats of white and trying one wall in this cloudy/spongy minty green effect I hated it. So we painted the dining room with another two coats, this time in the green (“Belle Meade Moss”), and then two coats of an off-white almond color in the living room. The technical name, believe it or not, is “Cincinnatian Hotel Hannaford.” Whatever the hell that means. It’s taupe, people!
I’d really wanted to go to the Pride parade on Saturday with Jay & Scott but after staying up till 3am painting I wasn’t prepared to get myself up at 7 or 8 in the morning Saturday. I had a bit of insomnia all weekend, laying awake, worrying about stuff like money and time and this job and the concert I’m planning and the previous landlord and the current landlady and why Kate hates me.
I haven’t really been obsessed with the former housemate, thankfully. I’ve gone through a few stages pretty fast: first it was denial then something like sadness, then anger, now I’m kinda angry and a little bitter but mostly just catty. After this phase, I hope I can reach indifference. I’m frustrated with myself for ignoring so many signs that I was involved with such a selfish person for so long and did so much for her that went unnoticed or unappreciated. But mostly it’s frustration that I can’t seem to let it go. My only defense is that the wounds are still relatively fresh. I don’t know what type of catharsis I may need to let it go completely . . . yelling at her? Punching her in the face? Or the satisfaction of ignoring her if she comes back around? Yes, the latter would be nice, albeit immature.
It’s funny to stand outside yourself and watch the way you act, as objectively as possible. I could see myself getting hot, irritable, and sweaty over the weekend the more I painted. I got into at least two little tiffs with the housemate while we were painting because he a.) doesn’t know when to stop picking and b.) doesn’t know how to choose his battles. I had to listen to him go off on me for at least 5 full minutes yesterday. I was talking about purging our crap and just donating, throwing away, selling stuff. I have already given away at least half of my wardrobe, a bunch of kitchen stuff, books, CDs, and most of my movies, trying to tell myself that these things are only “stuff” and take up space. I also have kept boxed up my entire teapot collection with the idea that I will sell it on eBay or just give it to someone that has space to put it out ’cause they’re so pretty. Don’t worry, it’s not all fru-fru crap; it’s mostly authentic Chinese teapots with matching cups that are superneat.
So I was talking about how we should figure out what to do with Charlie’s eight million football cards when Cavan jumps to his defense and tells me how unnecessary my candy machine is. Then I had to listen to it for another two or so minutes until I finally said “Okay! Enough! Just stop.”
Two minutes of someone yelling at you about how heavy and stupid your candy machine is enough. When it goes on twice that long, it’s hard not to reach out and throttle them.