The last sad reminants of painters tape are drifting away from the house, green tendril like ribbons fluttering in the cool night air, as though some random drunken Maypole had tried to get affectionate with our Victorian semi. The contractors have not yet been by to finish the exterior, and will have to re-tape when at last the stars aline and they reappear from whatever Brigadoon they've gone to. Interior mostly done, with my own two front paws. Living room, dining room, kitchen ceiling, second coat on hall, armory, basement bathroom, office...the names of paint have become something I really love. Siam Red. Sleeping Water. Belgian Waffle. Geko. Poetic License. Fabulous landscape beautifuls were here to devise a cunning plan for both front and pack yards, total materials cost possibly within reach if I sell everything I'm not using, right now, on Ebay. Given that our next abode will likely be an apparement this is a good idea on a variety of fronts. Also managed to pawn off some beloved plants on good friends, so they'll be where I can vist them.
Lt. Ripley is continuing to stage protests in the hall. She has yet to clearly indicate her demands but if she did, I'm about ready to surrender.
We get a fair market evaluation for our streamer laiden house later this week. Hope for us.
I am beginning to occasionally hallucinate, and mostly blame the paint although it's low VOC and all. Actually I've discovered I love painting houses almost as much as I love Star Trek. And because the only non-house reno thing we've been doing lately is watching the original series I've discovered I'm a woman who really loves her Star Trek.
We're busy, in other words. So busy that I'm really beginning to miss a work environment with non-furry co-workers. You know, the kind that don't leave yellow puddles by your birkenstocks...