I exist.
Therefore I cost money.
I have kids.
Therefore I cost even more money.
I like making stuff.
Therefore I need money.
I hate boring.
Therefore I like interesting.
Therefore I need even more money.
I cost money.
Therefore I have no money.
I painted my living room → dining room → kitchen → hallway a few months ago. It used to be white. Nasty, chalky, primer white that picks up smudges from even freshly laundered white t-shirts. Those kids I referred to: they are small. And who among us doesn’t know that size is inversely proportionate to mess? In the land of the young human, that is… Ergo: chalky, colorless, easily influenced walls are not acceptable. Or maybe I’m just projecting. Since I lurve color, texture, basically anything that isn’t nasty white.
The rooms left in this condition after the Great Painting Project of whatever month that was are as follows: the 3 bedrooms and my bathroom. The kids’ rooms – not a big deal. Levi’s room is furnished with enough variation to offset some of the boredom. Besides, with a floor covered in toys, who’s even looking at the walls? The princess room has also been decorated adequately, as toddlers go, to postpone the need for pigment intervention. Christmas lights, sheer drapes, beaded curtains, you know – princess essentials. And a slate blue bunkbed the size of Texas.
My room… sad. pasty. uninspired.
Yesterday, Emberleigh took it upon herself to help me. A loose paint chip in the hallway caught her attention. Because it was partially attached, yet dangling pathetically, she proceeded to put the thing out of its misery. An 18″ x 5″ strip decided to follow suit. Along with the top layer of drywall. Yep.
So naptime rolled around (thank heavens!) and I dug up the 5 gallon bucket containing the remnants of Sandstorm 205 or Almond 32 or whatever the slightly better than white I had picked to spruce up my dwelling. Come on people. When you rent, there’s only so much excitement you can introduce to your environs.
I touched up that not-helpful-helpers-help.
I cannot hold a paintbrush and then put it away 3 minutes later. It. Is. Not. Possible. I have this paint out. It’ll be months before the paint comes out again. So I touched up dings. And spots. Hand prints. You know the kind. And still the longing in my soul was not satisfied. I heard a whispering. Coming from my room. It was dust. From the walls. The white primer. Desperately desiring to be covered just as I longed to cover it. Yet the paint in my bucket was not enough. Dilemma indeed.
This is where being poor pays off. You see, the hipster generation we live in is not just a fad. I believe in the depths of my soul that it is art, forced to be expressed in new ways due to the economy. There just isn’t money for the joy of beauty. So we create our own. We find expression in the lack of ability to express it. It started with college kids at the Goodwill or Salvation Army or various hole-in-the-wall, one-of-a-kind thrift shops and spread like the plague. If I can be cool by tweaking what I found at a garage sale or in the Lost & Found, then just call me Iceman. Right on up there with lofts and bare block walls in my artist crib. Ahem. That’s what I dream of, anyways.
Masking tape in hand, and a deformed paint roller at the ready, I created. I designed. I hipster-ed. I lofted. I artist-ed. Requiring less time to dry (important when considering toddler nap duration) and less quantity of paint, it seemed the solution to the problem at hand. As well as my burning need to rid my room of its devastating lack of anything but white. And my newly found hipster self. Inspired by abject poverty and my insatiable need to sit at the cool kids’ table.
Further inspired while facing a shortage of time and paint, I armed myself with a staple gun and conquered a 3rd wall of despair. Hanging a quilt I made a few years back completed the corner, and left 1 side of the room bare. Quite an upgrade if you ask me. Besides, we wouldn’t want too much excitement. Might not be able to sleep at night for the overwhelming hipster vibe.
My bathroom is cozy now. Is that a thing? Can bathrooms be cozy? Mine is awesome. Come to think of it, I think I look better in the mirror with the new backdrop. And Audrey looks pleased. That’s important.
The beauty of it is that if we ever move, I can just “finish painting”.
Now I have to find somewhere to put all my sewing stuff. The white side of my room looks like self storage. I guess I can pretend it’s part of “the look”.
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