Him: "Are you sure the kitchen walls are Egg White? We also have Egg Shell."

Me: "I'm positive. Absolutely positive."

Him: "I don't know. This doesn't look right."

Me: "I painted both sides of the wall the wrong paint color before. Do you need me to go pull up my archives for you?"

Him: "Okay, then. Egg White."

And then I stomped back to the foyer to paint the space next to the baseboards the WRONG COLOR OF WHITE.

Make it stop. Just make the painting thing stop. Guess what I'm doing tonight?

Ever have a writing project that's not moving as quickly as you want?

PAINT STUFF.

Wish you could take a three-week vacation to Europe?

PAINT STUFF.

Scared about how hot this summer's going to be if it's already 80 before St. Patrick's Day?

PAINT STUFF.

Tired after a conference followed by an intense workweek?

DON'T SLEEP. PAINT STUFF.

Painting stuff is awesome. It's the cheapest way I know to start over. In the 2011-2012 edition of The Transformation of Chateau Travolta, Beloved put in a doorway arch that I completely forgot to document and then he got a wild hair and painted the dark beams in the living room white. Once he did that, I realized how much I hated the Friendly Yellow on the living room walls even though I love it in the hall. 

So then we decided we needed white molding to go with the new white ceiling and if we were going to go to that much trouble, we might as well paint the whole room, because what the hell.

So that's coming soon. I hope we get it all done this weekend, because the molding's been sitting in the garage since February. (That last bit was for my mother, who thinks we work really fast. It's all relative, Ma.)

This is all part of dealing with the fact I really want to use the Corolla insurance money to buy a 1984 convertible with cash. I will paint stuff instead, because that would be foolish. 

Right?