The entire weekend was spent at the new house prepping it for paint and happily there no more supernatural shenanigans. Oh sure, the lights would flicker on and off from time to time and at one point it sounded like someone was walking around in the attic, but other than that, nothing to report. I live so many aspects of my life in denial these days, what's one more?
We discovered some moderate water damage on some of the exterior walls and had someone out to check. He said it was caused by the automated sprinklers. Inexplicably the bank had left the utilities on the entire time the house sat vacant and the sprinklers have been going off like clockwork, soaking the yards. With no one around to monitor it, the water had pooled against the house and crept into the walls.
Proving that in Bakersfield, even the dead overwater their lawns.
I'm headed over this morning to begin painting, which should prove to be interesting. From day one we had decided to paint the entire house stark white. None of this namby-pamby "sage" or "mocha" for us. But you'd be shocked to discover how many shades of white there are. For two months now our current home has been plastered with white paint swatches. Taped to furniture, matched up with carpet samples, moving around from room to room to see what they look like in different light.
The boyfriend had finally narrowed it down to four and to be honest I couldn't tell them apart. And I have an art degree. But to him, each represents a monumental shift in whiteness. After much back and forth, he finally settled on a winner, only to change his mind again on the way to the store to pick it up. So I have a sneaking suspicion that after eight hours of painting today, the boyfriend will arrive after work and decide that the white isn't quite... right.
If history is a guide, I know this isn't a task I will be doing just once. But such are the things you do for love, so I'll paint it as many times as he likes.
