Stress, Thy Name is...

renovation.

Yes, we've hit the wall. And, sorry to say, my dear younger son - who is the ONLY beneficiary of this effort - is JUST like his mother in that the stress of this deadline has made him really crabby!

He has to be out of his apartment (which he shares with a friend) by Wednesday. Today is Monday. The room is not done, despite both of us spending every spare minute for the last - well, it seems like forever - working in that room. Today, after teaching a full work day, I spent another four hours painting closet doors and a big space in the inside of the closet that G--- didn't do. I cut all the baseboards (yes, with 45 degree angles in the corners) and taped the walls to paint the door trim. This after dropping off the window screen - damaged beyond repair when someone forgot their key.

He just dropped by to use my drill (bitched because there's something wrong with the way the batteries are [not] working right) to put holes in his temporary snake homes. Pitched a passive aggressive hissy hanging the last of the closet doors (complained because one door appears streaky; of course, the reason it's streaky - IF it is - is because the lad used up all the rollers (no he didn't clean them, he just threw them away) and left me the one that was losing it's nap all over the closet doors.

Last straw for both of us was picking up the EXPENSIVE drop cloth I'd bought for this project only to find that the white paint had dripped on, then through, the cloth. I should have bought the cheap plastic.

Well, enough of the rant. He'll just have to figure out that we rarely get life exactly as we would like it to be, huh?