23.10.2022 Painting fatigue.

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  Sunday 23rd 52F. Heavy overcast and breezy. A cloudy day is promised but with some sunshine later.

 Up at 5.30. Endlessly reliving the unchangeable past. 

 No stove needed last night. October is heading for the record books as warmest ever. 65F/18C upstairs this morning. 

 The white paint is certainly bringing the light in. So well, in fact, that it exposes everything which is wrong with the place. Including the mess I have made. While pretending to tidy up! A second coat of white is needed on the brick wall under the stairs. A normal brush, with a shorter handle, would be far more sensible. I have been using a long handled 2.5" brush for most of the brickwork painting. The long handle was "handy" for reaching up near the ceiling. Without needing the small stool.

 After that I shall paint the plywood beside and under the stairs. I thought it would look awful but it just looks smooth so far. A second coat is essential. I am running out of wall paint. Still plenty of wood paint left though. I suppose I could use the primer on the plywood. To kill the suction. It might produce a better first coat.

 The redecorating of the house has been hugely beneficial for me. It provided an indoor project as autumn descended. Not only that, but each new area of white paint adds to the whole. It is becoming lighter as it gets much darker outside. Just moving about indoors becomes easier. It helps to lift my mood when I could so easily descend into misery and apathy. 

 Writing about the changes I make gives me a record of my recovery from the tragic loss of my wife. I may not mention Her quite so often but every day is still an uphill struggle. To escape from the whirlpool of the countless memories of our being together. Everything I see and touch has associations with her presence. The most unlikely memories barge into my conscious. Like the unwanted keys of a badly tuned piano being beaten randomly. 

 I keep wanting the nightmare of this being suddenly alone to end. Some mistake must have been made somewhere. She did everything right and still she died. It was so unfair and there is nothing I can do to change a single moment of our past. 

 I don't have the false comfort of religious belief. If She went to heaven. Then I must have been sent straight to the hell of my own making. To endlessly relive my countless failures. To judge myself over and over and over again. My tears can never wash away by feelings of guilt. They just bring more pain. As I wallow in my own self-pity. 

8.00 Finally it is light enough for my morning walk. 

9.30 Morning coffee is over. I took a brisk walk to the far woods. I needed a change of scenery. Though I didn't go in. There would be no sunlit views along winding paths though the gorgeous beech trees today. Not under this leaden and distantly misty world. No hundreds of pretty pictures. To take back for my wife's admiration and impatience. Nor her brutally honest, constructive criticism.

 10.30  The left brick wall under the stairs has been rolled and brushed for a second coat. I have primed the large area of plywood to the left of the stairs. Two hours to dry before overpainting. So I can't make it white until after 12.00. Right side plywood has had a second rolled coat of paint. It still looks slightly translucent but is satisfyingly smooth and cosmetically acceptable as a wall surface. 

 I need a simple, brass "U" shaped handle for the lounge door to the entrance hall. Despite the huge collection of stuff I haven't found anything suitable so far. It has had a simple cup hook fitted for 20 years. Now it just looks totally naff. This door has a roller catch. To allow effortless opening and closing on the way to and from the kitchen while laden. I might cycle into the village to check out the Sunday flea-markets.

12.30 Just returned from an 8.5 mile ride to the village and back. Stopped to chat to an ex-colleague. He had just lost his mother. Two flea markets the size of warehouses and nothing of interest. The sun is trying to break through now.

13.30 56F/13C. Lunch over. Watery sunshine. I have the greenhouse door open to share the warmth.  I decided to paint the plywood white before lunch.

15.30 57F/14C. I have been filling lots of cracks with a mastic gun. It is a huge cosmetic improvement. Not to have the eye automatically drawn to black lines. 

 20.50 Dinner was chicken and mushroom curry There was lots!! No need for the stove. It is 66F upstairs. 19C.

My arm and shoulder are aching from all that painting. Unaccustomed exercise.

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