Painting Something New

In January I moved into an apartment at 32nd and Guadalupe, a little two story corner home, built in the 1920s and amended by a few additions since then. At one point it seems that the owners attempted to turn it into a duplex by adding washer and dryer hook ups and a “door to nowhere” upstairs. It was never completed, the door to nowhere is just that; a door that opens to a 20 foot drop onto the sidewalk. I have yet to try it.

The clock, glowing from the south east corner of the monitor, just showed 1:47 a.m. My seat is a faded greed velvet couch, acquired from my grandparent’s attic in Muskogee, the computer hums on the ground, key board is on my lap, i can barely see the words I type. Such late hour, alone, I write this now, I have been painting the apartment since eight, or so. Drank almost an entire bottle of $6 white wine from the gas station two blocks away (right next to the new P.Terry’s I might joyfully add!), also where I bought my first pack of American Spirit blues in a while. They do not give me the blues, they make me happy, keep me company on a night spent with only the stereo, Rekka the cuddle cat, and a great task of painting the entire living space upstairs. It must be done, it was too dingy for me to call home, thus I paint, and paint, and paint. At the moment, for the second time, it’s a little Merle Haggard chiming through the modest stereo, it makes me want to dance and sing, and drink a bit more of that wine. I have friends coming to stay tomorrow, for less than a week, this was my motivation to paint, the color green was my inspiration.

So the house, as previously mentioned, was built in the 1920’s. My hands have some calluses built up from all the painting, or perhaps from working with the horses, perhaps both. The land lord, who happens to be a friendly man with a passion for dancing the Austin night away, lives downstairs, we share the kitchen. He made a peculiar comment recently while a stranger was over for coffee. He said that he prefers the house in it’s utter messy state of current existence because it’s more fun to walk through and imagine what it could be, rather than brood over what it is. This could be further interpreted that if the house were perfected, brought to it’s full potential, then there would be no fun left to have, because there would be nothing more to imagine for the house.

Now, my instinct tells me that I am more of a “doer” than this man, I have done more with my upstairs portion of the house than he with his downstairs, perhaps ever. But some of that is true, for what will I do once it is all painted? I will have no more reason to spend such productive and satisfying hours alone, with the cats, and music that I love.

Does this translate into business, will I get all my satisfaction from starting the first one and wish to pursue others, will it become mundane, and then the next step will be something else, something new, something with potential?