Paint fumes

In the brief description of my blog, I listed it as musings on life’s general absurdities but perhaps I should have more accurately defined them as inanities because, let’s face it, there are more of them than there are real showstoppers – the ones that make you stop and think ‘wow, mundo bizarro’.

For example, at the moment I am in bed, my pooter propped on my knees breathing in an insistent waft of acrylic paint – testimony to my labours earlier this day. What was earlier a fresh, almost attractive odor now more closely resembles a waft from an extinct deep fat frier. No doubt I will fall into a dark sleep and dream of being a battered cod fillet or some such.

Painting by the way – not the artistic type – but the inane list of door, windowframe and other household fixture is a maddeningly time consuming mindf*ck. Without any other distraction than your own thoughts, you operate the brush taking care to avoid paint runs, splashes and overshoots while literally wishing the time away, hoping for a good result and the chance to break free from its servitude.

And yet, when the job is done (and that’s never soon enough) you are left with an extra 24 reminder of it, just to add a little insult to the injury.

One of my cats has now taken up residence beside me on the bed and is busily cleaning and preening herself. I’m sure that somewhere on the evolutionary path, they were presented with the option to develop hands but graciously declined foreseeing with great feline intelligence the futility of paint and brushes.

So there you have it, better to be a cat with fleas than a blogger with an itch.

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