I’m painting a wall.  Well, strictly speaking I’m sitting here writing, but this is merely avoidance behavior–to avoid painting the wall, which is avoidance behavior to avoid writing.  As you can seem I’ve taken avoidance behavior to new heights.  I shall try to explain–without using the words “avoidance behavior” again.

First there is the wall.  I am painting this f*^#ing wall for the fourth time.  When I had the room painted about four years ago I decided that one of the walls was too dark.  I tried re-painting  it myself, in a lighter shade. I got it wrong.  So I tried again, and again.   I could never get the color right. The last color being the most obnoxious of them all, of course.   I hate painting and I’m lousy at it. (I’m sure you can feel my pain.) Well, this time I took the radical step of buying a sample pot to test the color before I painted the whole damn wall.  Well, guess what!?  The color was good!  Still a bit darker than I had in mind, but heaps better than any of the previous colors.  I almost didn’t dread re-painting the wall this time.

One small hiccup.  Or potential hiccup.  When I went back to the paint store to buy the paint, I decided that, although the color was good, it was still a tad dark.  So I went home with yet another new color.  Not a sample pot this time.  I’ll spare you the suspense and report straightaway that the color is just right.  Whether I like it or not.  This is the last time I am painting this damn wall.  You read it here.

I’ve finished the preparation and the edging. I’m procrastinating with the fill-in-with-the-roller part of the job.  The easy part.  Maybe there is a lurking fear that once the whole wall is painted I won’t like this color either?  Oh My Dog–don’t even think it.

So that’s why I’m writing-to-avoid-painting.  “Why are you painting to avoid writing?”  I hear you ask.  Well, that’s the other writing.  The novel.  (the second novel)  It’s at a complicated stage: unfinished.  Hah Hah  That was a little writerly joke.  But sort of true.  I have all of these ‘jobs’ cluttering my head (and house) and I keep thinking that once I clear the way it will be easier to keep my concentration on the book.  I believe that.  Thousands wouldn’t, and most of them would be writers who know better.  But, hey.  The wall is going to look a lot better, anyway.  And then I’ll be able to settle down and write.  After I deal with a bunch of jewelry that needs to be repaired.              MM