I find myself longing for my garage back home.
My fingers itch for the feel of sanding wood furniture.
My manicured fingers look foreign–there should be paint on my cuticles and wedged under my fingernails.
My work clothes have been at the bottom of a drawer, paint splattered and worn out, for far too long.
I haven’t used a power tool other than the drill/screwdriver in ages.
I miss the intoxicating smell of stripper and turpentine.
Small crafts are fun, but they don’t invigorate me the way upcycling or repurposing a piece of furniture does. Heck, I even miss home improvement nightmares!
I should be writing a paper for my Shakespeare Seminar class, but as much as I love old Bill, I just can’t shake this desire to transform a room or a piece of furniture.
But, alas, my desires must be put on hold—at least for another 4 weeks. After I say So long to Bill and modern Brit Lit, it’s hello to paint, toxic fumes, and sandpaper!