if the next words out of your mouth aren’t , “it’s time to go to bed,” you might have a painting problem.
So it took a few days to do it, but when I told T2 no screen time until his room got done, he promptly walked down the hall to point the finger at my studio/pack rat hole.
In the end, I’m really happy. I have a place to paint and write, each activity done standing or walking. My little purple easy chair with the Big Guy’s grandma’s afghan is in the corner for reading.
The only trouble is that I’m finding out — again — that when the studio is clean there’s no such thing as just going in to take a quick look at a piece in progress. Whatever I tell myself at nine or 10 o’clock at night when I go in, swearing I’m just going to pick up that brush and touch up that corner or lay down a quick layer, my organized room is still a sign of a sick mind that won’t be able to call it quits until it’s time to get up for work.
It’s appropriate to finish this as a little cold front pushes the haze through the valleys and over the mountains.