Tears before Bedtime

I woke early dreaming of being a jolly serving wench with fistfuls of tankards, so started painting the kitchen siding singing everything I could remember from "The Student Prince" in a warbling soprano. I examined my soprano prejudice from the inside then, and found it valid, so many of them are in love with the notion of a single transcendent voice soaring above the choir. Transcendent means loud, right?

One is never simply painting.

I might have bitten off more than I can chew at the moment. The living room is ankle deep in sawdust, the kitchen counters are cleared for action as first the backsplashes must be secured before the siding goes up. My books are still out on the deck but at least I have the second coat on the bookshelves, as everything has to go back before I can paint the other side of the room. but wait! I want to have order, reference books together, poetry together, hardly the Dewey system but not random. Everyone knows that sorting books is fatally slow, so I shall be in half-painted chaos a while yet, and we are off to Toronto and Connecticut on the weekend. The ordinary business of watering plants and feeding pet and people doesn't stop, and I feel panic rising in my gorge.