There’s a reason no one even jokes about moving being fun and now that I’m 19 a lot older than I was in the last time and I’m a lot more involved. Redecorating is now a word that actually gives me nightmares, in 5 eternally long hours I have painted 6 walls. I am indisputably the paint queen, turns out you can turn skills you learnt in art lessons to real world situations and that’s a lot more useful than knowing how to find the gradient at a turning point on a curve, thank you everyone who said maths is more ‘important’ than art.
I’m now lying on the floor with my head on the only dry wall not caring about how gross I feel or how tried my arms are but how similar this whole thing feels to DofE. The laughably difficult award thousands of English students strife for even if it kills them ( which mine nearly did). DofE is finished off with a two/three/four day walk and in the middle of day one a certain feeling of delirium comes over you that questions your sanity over why you optionally put your self in that position. Your feet take over and you blindly follow who ever’s map reading, this feeling of WTF will eventually take over till your a shell of a human who will eat just about anything and cry over again anything.
So this is how I feel now about painting the only thing that I’ve been programmed to do. Which alas did not last long as I’m lying in the corner of room while my parent asks if I’m ok but I’m above feeling now, once I can feel my arms I will be gone again paint brush in hand. This is what moving does to people, I’m not even thinking about what putting my stuff in here will be like because I can’t I just can’t . So enjoy some pictures of semi painted rooms because blood sweat and effort has gone into them.