Night and day

This is what it looked like before:

          


I only lasted a week looking at that shit.  I said to myself, well who can blame the woman.  I would have killed myself too if I had to look at that shit day in and day out.  At first I was going to wait, I said, well, it might be ugly, but you just got here and you don't have a job so you really shouldn't go spending money on sheets and pillowcases until you have a job and have some money coming in.  Then I said, OK, if I have to look at that shit for one more day I am going to climb onto the roof of this building and jump off.  So I went down to Laytner's Linens to rectify the situation.

The painting had to go as soon as humanly possible.  I couldn't look at it anymore without wanting to stab myself in the eye.  I gave it away, to that dude from craigslist who has been so helpful, the one who helped me move my shit in.  I was foaming at the mouth to get it out, and the minute I did I was overcome with a hugely depressing and horrible feeling of guilt.  I have a feeling that she loved that painting and it meant a lot to her for some reason (because she was out of her mind and bat-shit crazy) and I'm sure she would have been extremely hurt and depressed to know that I was so eager to get it out of my house.  Because it was fucking hideous.

But I got over it rather quickly, and was grateful for the plain white wall underneath.  It's going to be forever before the place looks the way I want it to.  It needs to be painted, I need to tear up the carpet and refinish the floor.  I need this, that, the other.  Whatever.  It's getting there.  This is what it looks like now:

            

At least we're moving in the right direction.