3 months later and the accidental hole I put in the ceiling with my foot is still not entirely fixed. Meaning it's patched, but still doesn't look right, and I'm beginning to fear it never will. I've taped and compounded and sanded and re-compounded and re-sanded and sanded and sanded. I've tried that ceiling texture in a can which is remarkably and simultaneously frightening and really super fun to use. but it doesn't match up all that well. Plus then there was a visable border where the plastic was push-pinned to the ceiling. Now, I've used a wire brush to blur the border, but the texture is still not right. plus, I just noticed, there's one spot where the tape seems to be bubbling. awesome. mostly though, I've been just ignoring it. I completely over-hauled my master bathroom instead, done in taupe and terra cotta and accented with BRIGHT lime green. Love it. Though the previous owners of the house painted over wallpaper that they hung without priming the drywall...that my friend, was a really really shitty thing to do to a girl like me, and it took weeks to tear down the paper, at which time big hunks of the drywall would randomly peel off, needing to then be patched and then more sanding and more mess, and I finally decided that it would never be actually smooth, so instead of working on it for another year I decided to put up suede paint to hide the "imperfections" of the walls...now I'm desperately seeking paint colors for the living room/hallway. And feeling guilty that I haven't finished the ceiling.
In other news...I hate my doctor. I've had a whole slew of medical issues crop up in the last year...his response? Here, take some lexapro and you'll probably feel better. Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that I lean a little toward crazy, but I've been like that for all of my life, so I'm pretty sure that your little happy pill is not going to suddenly solve all my trouble. More likely I just won't care anymore, which, hey, I'm totally fine with denial on a regular basis, but not at the expense of finding the actual cause of the symptoms, and, potentially, a cure. I hate him. The only thing missing from his pathetic patronizing, was a pat on my wee little head.
