Yes, My Arms Were Broken...

…Which was why I had to take a day off Monday.

They weren’t broken in the traditional sense, because the bones were just as fine as they were the week before.

They were broken in the sense that I couldn’t get them to work. At all. Moving my arms involved my swinging my torso about and hoping for physics to take over and get my arm where I wanted it. Mostly it involved me whacking the living daylights out of my arm against stuff in the house.

This weekend I got another project done—the Master suite. The room had to be sanded, scraped, re-taped and mudded, sanded again, and then primed and painted. I then slept on a futon while we let everything dry. It’s not a wonder I felt broken.

It’s now done. I painted the bedroom Kettle Black (which isn’t actually black) and the closet and bathroom are Serving Platter. The ceiling and trim are bright white. It looks much more updated, but is also necessitating a re-think about the accessories. I am not sure what I’m going to do because the what I wanted has apparently been discontinued. Or is WAYYY outside my budget (like the lovely hand embroidered gold silk drapes I found at Tuesday Morning).

And today the soreness is finally letting up to be replaced by sickness and exhaustion. I’m up and running to the bathroom every so often, but still at work since I’m reasonably certain it’s not contagious.

I think I need a new body. One that doesn’t get run down so easily.