DIY House??

Recovering from foot surgery, I have had LOTS of free time to rediscover the "joys" of the interweb. Most recent interweb search? Homes! Given that we just purchased a home, what else would I be thinking about? (Do not answer that question - it was rhetorical and no one wants to hear your smarty pants response.)

Similar to that witty little quote about Disney princes giving young women false expectations about love (really, any little girl that grows up believing the love of her life is the man who keeps her shoe (creepy) after she loses it, then searches for her completely based on shoe size is slightly crazy.), house blogs, DIY websites, etsy, pinterest (see below to find out what the deuce pinterest is), and LOTS of free time have given me false expectations and hope of the future of our home. I am completely lost in this "love story" and I need a reality check. Since I am currently laid up in bed with my foot elevated (yes, doctor, my foot IS elevated and I have only hit it a couple of times, once with my crutch, once with the toilet.) that reality check has not slapped me yet. I continue to look at fabulous pictures and DIY visions and think, "Oh my giddy goodness, this is SO possible. All I need is crappy bookshelf, some primer, and paint!" Or.."I must find an old drawer, some vintage suitcases, and a cracked mirror and presto! a desk." Or..."Someone get me a tree and I will create a bed! It gives you step by step dirctions RIGHT HERE and it's totally do-able. Seriously, get me an ax and a saw."

I just need an opportunity to go to some thrift store and buy a bunch of junk and then sit around in the garage with all of my "creative DIY" supplies and wait for the panic attack to sink in. A good dousing of real life. First panic attack will happen at the thrift store when I am surrounded by junk. "Everything here is crap!" I will yell. Of course it is. "How does everyone on the internet find all these spectacular things?!" They see "beyond" the hunk of junk, like some visionary siren with a third eye. "What am I supposed to do with this broken thing?" I don't know DIY goddess, you tell me. You tell me.

Second panic attack will happen in the paint aisle. "They said they used black.. glossy black, flat black, glitter black, blackest black, light black, t-shirt black, pupil black, 3 am black, 5 am black, heartbreak black, shark eye black.. what fresh hell?"

Third panic attack will happen when we're all sitting around together (the hunk of junk, the hardware, the paint), similar to a horrible dinner party no one wanted to attend for Great Aunt Gertrude. Gertrude is sleeping at the head of the table, the cake just fell over, mom is screaming at dad because he did something wrong (even though he literally did nothing), the teenagers are all texting and updating their statuses - "lamest party ever!", and the kids are the only ones having fun, because they are tossing food in Aunt Gertie's mouth and making it a game. I digress.

The short and short of this whole thing is I need to get better and try some of the things that I think I can do, realize I can't, then move one with my life. I need DIY closure. In the meantime, I'm laid up and recovering from foot surgery, still thinking DIY loves me and I love him back and we're going to have a lovely future together. It's all rainbows and skittles, and I don't even realize he is cheating on me with Crafty McCrafterson down the road.

I will scream. I will cry. I will kick things. Husband will sit idly by, watching my panic attacks take place. He foretold this event. He knew it would happen. He lets me run out of steam. He buys me a new bookshelf. And guess what? The color is perfect and I don't have to sand or paint a damn thing.

For those who want to gaze upon my current love affair with DIY, please indulge yourself here: