Burlap & Satin

The Absentee Freecycler promises me she will come by today and get the extra paint. I'm not holding my breath, but still I'd really like to be rid of the extra 11 gallons of paint on our front porch. And I'd really like to stop bringing it in and out constantly because of this damn cold weather. Did you know paint could freeze? Because it can. I've seen it. I'm sure our neighbors think we're nuts, leaving out used cans of Behr for the Paint Fairy every day. If the Freecycler does come to pick it up tonight, I should run outside immediately after and shout, "Oooh, she left me a dollar!" just to see the looks on their faces.

In other news, we're kind of in a lull on the home renovations. J. has the built-in bookshelves well, built for the most part. It just seems we kind of ran out of money and can't do much more until his payday this Friday. Oops. We've started calling this place the Payday House. It seems that we sink nearly every dime we have into this place, without much left for ourselves or fun stuff. That was what my job was for - the extras, the fun stuff. But when my job became incredibly stressful and anxiety-inducing, it really wasn't worth it anymore. Truth be told, we spend less now that I don't need gas every day and I'm not eating out for lunch, but we also spend a lot more on the house because I now have the time to do more work on it. It's a Catch 22 in that regard. More money = more can be done to the house. Job to create the money = less time to actually work on the house. *sigh* Adult life. Why did I want to grow up so badly again? Because I thought I could do whatever I wanted? Who knew that all I would want to do is go buy and install a new hardwood floor? Stick with childhood, kids. Grown-ups are really, really boring.

Speaking of boring, I've been trying for the past two months to get through Margaret Atwood's Blind Assassin and it's killing me. I know that people regard this novel as an amazing literary achievement, that person after person tells me "wait until the ending! the ending is great!," but I'm sorry. I just don't think I can bear it much longer. Every night, I am bored to tears with this story and I can't stand the way she writes. I tried - with the same success - to read the Handmaid's Tale as well. Again, I get bored easily. If someone spends three pages describing the architecture of a Victorian home and nothing else, I'm immediately rolling my eyes and wishing we could just "get on with it" already. Nothing against those of you that love this novel, but I'm a very plot-driven girl and I can't stand to dilly dally around describing shit all day. It's just not in me.

Now I know some of you are giving me a look and saying "But you love Stephen King! He describes shit for pages!" Yes that's true, but here's my philosophy on that. When King describes something, it's usually in a suspenseful or anecdotal way and it almost always ties into the plot. When he describes a Victorian mansion, he makes it sound like the mansion has its own personality, that it's a scary place full of secrets. He does not make it sound like a damn documentary on Victorian architecture. Does that make sense? I know I'm probably offending some people here. People have told me for years, "You don't like Margaret Atwood? She's one of the biggest feminist voices in our era!" Yes, well. Anne Rice has also gained popularity for female writers in our era, but she still needs a damn editor. Yeah, I said it. Notice that I said it without describing it for five pages too. See there? It can be done.

With that, I'm off to finish up a little sewing project that's been sitting on my dining room table for much too long. With any luck, I'll post photos of that one later as it's quite fun. Toodles. :-)