Summary of the past four days:
Tuesday: Move, tote, lift; move, tote, lift; move, tote, lift; cull, cull, cull; toss, toss, toss; box, box; tote, tote, tote.
Wednesday: Shovel, shovel, shovel (snow); hammer, hammer, glue, glue, screw, screw, screw (building bookcase, not sex); errand, errand, errand, errand, errand; sort, sort, sort, wipe, wipe, scrub.
Thursday: Move, move, move; wait, wait, wait; shop, shop, shop, buy; putty, putty, putty; sand, sand, sand; kerchunk, kerchunk, kerchunk (new pneumatic nail gun installing trim); caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk, caulk (Nana is addicted to caulk), caulk, caulk, caulk (see me watching all this), caulk, caulk, caulk.
Friday: Scrub, scrub, caulk, caulk, caulk; shovel, shovel, shovel; confer, confer; queen on king, three on four; errand, errand; caulk, caulk, caulk (there are 12-step programs for this...); paint, paint, paint, swoon, paint, paint, paint, paint, Tales of the ER until 2:00 am.
Note there is no "draw, draw, draw" in any of that. No artwork happening during those days.
What does this have to do with the monkey you might be asking? Nothing, but it catches me up to where the monkey comes in.
Nana was painting away this afternoon, all glaze-eyed, zoning away in a happy place in her head, and she said, "I *love* to paint."
That's when I had an epiphany.
I would have said the same thing five years ago, but wouldn't now. Painting has lost its appeal for me. I used to love all the prep work, imagining what the finished product would look like, creaming on beautiful paint, and watching the ragged transform into the sublime. Everything looks better with a fresh coat of paint.
I realized over the past ten years I have completely painted the insides (walls, ceilings, doors, trim and cabinets) of my house, my mother's house, my mother-in-law's house, and Prissy Sister's house. I've also painted my neighbor's entire kitchen (including cabinets), and Nana's nursery. Now I'm here painting Nana's two new closet shelving units and a new set of pantry doors. I think I'm done painting for a while.
An epiphany is really not the same as a Monkey-Touch-The-Monolith moment, but M-T-T-M was the only thing my tired brain could muster up to draw to preserve and illustrate the thought.