Light at the end of the tunnel.

The upstairs (I started to say "my upstairs" which could mean my brain or maybe boobs) of my house has been in disarray since the middle of June. New ceilings in three rooms. Now the plasterer left an hour ago saying he is finished. I can hardly believe it.

First was my bedroom, forcing me to move to the bigger spare bedroom. Still a tight squeeze with my chests of drawers, etc., added in to the existing decor. Everything was makeshift at best. The dogs were totally confused by having their bed pillows in a new space. Nobody slept well. Then the plaster was done and it took two days to clean and paint, even with help. Then moving back in. And moments later, moving all the stuff out of Lucy's room and the laundry room. My hallway and both spare rooms have been jammed. All the ceiling fans and lights are still down. I don't know that I truly like the paint color in my bedroom. But the worst part of it is that I just hate the filth and the upheaval. I love my home to be calm and peaceful and beautiful.

So today it is time to finish pulling the wallpaper down in the laundry room, and CLEAN the two rooms. They are an ungodly mess due to plaster dust and strips of wallpaper and paint. Then painting and moving back in. By the end of this week, things should be closer to normal. Thank goodness.

For the price of one month of disarray and resultant depression at my surroundings, plus being up and dressed at 8am when the plasterer arrives every day, I will have two much nicer rooms and will have added to my home's value.

Yet this summer I hope to pull the wallpaper off the dining room and paint in there. I won't start it until I've almost forgotten how irritating the whole process is.