cimorene

went to the paint store, the independent one, that is, for paint for my room. this house is a hundred years old and has a black cherry stain on the hip-height wainscoting, and the chair rail, and the floors, which are plank wood, so in my room, which is v/ small (12x...9?), there's just the upper half (to 10' ceilings) and the ceiling itself to paint, plus a neat little three-sided alcove that's going to contain three mirrors.

so i wasn't sure what paint i wanted and they were closing in ten minutes so the mr. man gave me (ecstatic face) a booklet of all the paint samples they have. god, it's as fascinating as reading a book of words. i want to paint a neighborhood full of houses just so i can use all the colors; it's BRILLIANT.

also, i'm going to do something tacky and make a cover for this little tiny chest of drawers and screw bamboo poles all over the sides of it like doug did that one time to an entertainment armoire on trading spaces. i'm thinking of other ornamental uses for bamboo, while i'm at it; it's something i have a lot of that's free, and it's nice and intrinsically simple, and with the room so tiny...

i'll ponder this more later. wax was asleep and signed off, i presume because the internet kicked her off; am still mildly peeved. i should've asked my mom to teach me carpentry years ago, in other news. cheered her right up, even if she'd rather read trash romances in bed than actually do it (and here i am going through the snape/harry archive, which isn't too far off, except in that your average slash story, however devoid of content, is a bit better than your average het fic or, god forbid, harlequin).