Two weeks ago I got some paint out of the cellar to touch up the stair well; Dragging beds and sofas upstairs took its toll when I moved in. I'd been meaning to do this since the start of December. I identified the correct paint, tried it and put the lid back on the tin. I walked past it just now. I could have easily done the rest of the touching up but I haven't. This doesn't surprise me since this is pretty much who I am. I wonder how long it'll sit on the newspaper on the kitchen floor and how long the paint brush will sit in the little mini sink that's part of the bigger sink I have got. I don't mind the brush being in this little sink as I can't actually work out what it could be for anyway.
Similarly, I have often wanted to read in the kitchen but have put up with only one of the halogens working and the centre light not working at all (even though i did try changing the light bulb when I moved in). Today I actually replaced one of the halogen bulbs and unscrewed the centre light and found a wire had come loose. I slotted it back in and now have a light. It has taken me 4 months to get round to that.
I've been trying to work out why it takes me so long to start (then finish) things like this. It's not because I don't care about how things look or don't see the benefit in doing it. It's not because I'm lazy; I work pretty hard some (if not all) of the time. It's not because I don't have time enough to do it. I have sat and watched some pretty crummy matches on TV recently; I could easily have found 15 minutes to sort it out. I think that I have some sort of psychological problem with it. Each time I think about it it feels like an insurmountable obstacle but one that will be easier to navigate "later". I spose I should be pleased that I have done it at all.
Friday, 20 March 2009
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