Paint Your Kitchen

I painted yesterday! 

It felt good, restorative even, but also exhausting. Why? Here in Perpetual Rehabville, if I’m on my feet I’m moving, walking. Sure, I stand up to brush my teeth and rinse off in the shower after a good scrubbing. That’s not the same ability level as standing at an easel (or in front of a kitchen wall) for extended periods of time. I’m drawing, twisting to my taboret to load more cad yellow medium onto my brush, stepping back to get a better view of what I just scribbled and then, hopefully skillfully, adding another swath of saffrony goodness to the sun.

I need to focus on both staying upright (FYI, upright takes a shit-ton of concentration) and slopping more paint on the wall in a, hopefully, skilled, fresh, artful manner (necessitating solid hand/eye coordination skill which is now way less accessible, what with my worsening essential tremors). Here, let’s remove your balance nerves and throw in a heaping helping of shake-a-delic action and see how well you fare.

Yes, painting now counts as exercise even though it doesn’t score the big numbers on my pedometer.

What I’m doing is expanding my kitchen wall(s) of doodles (not to be confused, necessarily, with Wall of Voodoo). With the repair of the food room, Ten’s moved some appliances around so I’ve more happy “canvas” to cover. Yea! I'd love to go all Michelangelo or John Singer Sargent on the new NOT popcorned ceiling but that would involve building safe-for-the-old-broad scaffolding, hiring a team of burly spotters and consuming a metric fuck-ton of gummies to get past my fear of falling (me sucking down gummies NOT the spotters). I just don't see this happening...YET. 

I start another round of physical therapy on Friday. This time I'll be working specifically on my crap balance. So, maybe I can rock some ceiling action in August. 

HEY, I can, at the very least, dream!