The Office of Sisyphus

In the move and shuffling around I lost my office. My writing room.

Oh, don't be sad, that space is now an awesome closet. Because, clothes. And, shoes. And, scarves. And, hoodies. I could go on and on but I'd like to think you get the gist.

When touring a friend through the 'new' closet she said, "But, where are you going to write?"

Brighter. And, yet, soul sucking.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew where I was going to write. I was moving down to the recently vacated actual office. With the built in shelves and crazy ass purple walls. And ceilings. The ONLY room I hadn't touched. 15/16 rooms painted. Some more than once.

It was time. To paint.

I couldn't write in there. It was too dark. Dreary. Sad.

First thing, I have to brighten up that ceiling. White. Ceiling white. It's a thing. I really like the ceiling paint that goes on pink and dries white. It's really handy so that you know where you've been and don't miss a spot. Turns out with a purple ceiling, it's hard to miss a spot. Four coats later, that ceiling wasn't purple any more. I couldn't move my shoulders but, that ceiling is white.

For the walls I wanted gray. A nice relaxing gray. Started painting. Kept painting. I didn't have to be terribly careful as I had to repaint the trim and the crown and the built ins. Really, all the things. Painted.

Four coats. Of one coat guarantee paint. There must be some fine print there that I missed. Because, four coats.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking through the doorway into the office, thinking of all my hard work. Looking at my nice relaxing gray walls. That are baby blue. Baby. Blue. Not relaxing. At. All.

It looked terrible. Truly.

All the paint.

I ran off to the hardware store. Grabbed every sample of gray paint they had. Freshened up a small patch of the trim so it was bright white and started taping all the gray samples to the wall. There was a clear winner. The perfect gray.

Started again. This time only two coats.

Then the trim. The crown. The shelves. Hours and hours and hours.

I got to hopeless. I actually stopped. I took days and days and then weeks off of painting. I avoided the room. Forget writing in there. I didn't even step in there.

Forget Sisyphus and his rock. Staci and her paintbrush is now right up there with Greek Mythology.

And, now... I love that room. I leave the lamp on just so I can admire it from other rooms. I sit at the desk. It's so relaxing. It's cozy. It's becoming a favorite place.

Oh and that gray? I didn't notice in the frantic gray sample pulling. But, that color? It's called 'Tin Man'.

Me and that Tin Man, we've got a lot in common.

Feel free to review. If I Only Had a Heart.

Surely a novel can come out of this...